Heart of the Phoenix
by Kylenne
Summary: The Lich King's domain has long been feared as a frozen hell of death and despair. However, for the Prince of the Sin'dorei and the one whom legend calls The Betrayer, it is only the beginning of something more powerful. BC AU, Yaoi, Illidan x Kael'thas
1. A Matter of Trust

"We shall send these fiends back to Arthas in pieces!"

Illidan Stormrage's voice echoed above the din of the fierce battle which raged across the frozen wasteland of the Dragonblight. Kael'thas was racing behind his master, barely able to keep up with the half-demon's bursts of preternatural speed while hurling arcane fire at the undead at every turn. There was a full two score of them, raining shadowy fire and at times even corpses upon the Blood Elf base, but the gifted mage and his demon hunter master were making quick work of them, flashing warglaives and arcane fury at any that would stand against them. Kael had never felt so invincible--nay, so alive! At his Master's side, nothing would stand before his might! At last, they seemed to cut through the entirety of the force. Or so the Prince of the Sin'dorei thought.

"Master!" Kael shouted in alarm, when a gargoyle came hurtling down from atop a nearby cliff, darting toward the demon hunter. Enraged, the Elf snapped his arm in the creature's direction and chanted quickly, sending twisting pillars of flame from the palm of his hand, and incinerated the beast. It dropped to crumbling, smoking rubble before Illidan's feet, and he turned back to briefly smile at Kael.

"Well done, my young prince," he almost purred at the mage, and Kael flashed a wicked grin, filled with pride. Before Kael could react, however, his master's expression turned grim in a flash, and Illidan vaulted over him, casting a great shadow with his sprawling wings. What followed was a quick succession of unseen blows followed by a sickening crunching sound. Kael spun around to see him standing over the desiccated corpse of an undead fiend, its head cleanly severed some yards away. "Don't let your guard down," Illidan growled while rolling a broad, muscled shoulder. "I would rather have you in one piece when we reach the traitor prince."

"Yes, Master," Kael replied somewhat sheepishly.

"Your Highness!" a voice suddenly called out, and Kael turned to see one of his battle medics, a young priestess of the House Dawnhaven, running towards them. She saluted crisply, then kneeled before them. "Our scouts have at last located Arthas' trail. He's heading toward a pass in the cliffs to the north, with a large force of the Lich King's cultists, and in the company of some sort of great, monstrous spider."

Kael furrowed his brow, deep in thought, pondering the priestess' words. "A new ally, then...perhaps one with an alternative path to the glacier. Excellent work, Lady Leilatha. Assemble your war priests, and--"

"Wait, Kael," Illidan cut him off, raising an eyebrow in the air. "Perhaps Arthas has found a new path to Icecrown--or perhaps he is laying a trap. We can ill afford to leave this pass unguarded. Remain here, my prince, and re-fortify the base. I will see to the bastard prince of Lordaeron myself."

"But, Master--" Kael could feel the anger and impatience rising within him. He was not about to leave that bastard human to Illidan. Not after everything he had done to Quel'thalas, to the Sunwell, to Kael's people--

"Kael." And Illidan's voice was softer, sympathetic. It washed over Kael like a comforting blanket, and seemed to dissipate his irritation as quickly as it arose. "I do not want to risk the possibility that Arthas is trying to lure our forces out for the slaughter, and we have lost too many soldiers in this wilderness as it stands."

"I understand the importance of this base, Master, and what it means to our supply lines, but with all due respect, we don't have time for this," Kael argued, in a resolute but courteous manner. "We cannot allow Arthas to reach the Frozen Throne--you said this yourself. The longer we delay, the longer it will take for us to catch up with him."

"Your zeal is commendable, as always, my prince," Illidan began, "but vengeance will only be yours if you do what I say. Your people will not prosper with their beloved prince killed in a meaningless ambush, or worse, a thrall of the Lich King. Vashj now controls the waterways, and that will purchase you enough time. I will send word when I am ready for you to strike."

Kael sighed in defeat, and silently dismissed the messenger. Illidan's reasoning was sound, of course, and he could not argue with it. Arthas was too cunning to be underestimated, even with his growing weakness. However, Kael was still a man of action--and more importantly, Illidan's self-proclaimed right hand. The thought of cowering within the Sin'dorei base while his master was in danger was maddening. There was little other choice, however.

As always, Illidan seemed to see right into Kael's heart. He thrust one of his massive warglaives into the snow, and placed the now-free hand on the Elven prince's shoulder in a sympathetic gesture, his lips curling into one of those handsome, slight smiles that made Kael so weak in the knees. The emerald-tinged fire that burned in his unnatural fel eyes seemed to burn a bit brighter, then, peeking through the blindfold. "Your trust in me has not been misplaced as of yet, has it? Have I as yet led you astray?"

"...no, Master. It hasn't. And you have not." Kael sighed again.

"Then give me your trust once more, Kael'thas Sunstrider," Illidan pressed. "Let me make certain this is not a ruse. If it isn't, I swear to you, together we will avenge your precious Quel'thalas, and then cast down that thrice-damned specter once and for all." His voice was firm, but once again using that quiet, half-purring tone. Kael wondered why he never threw his weight around with him, the way he did with the naga, and why Illidan seemed to have this need for Kael to not simply follow him blindly but _believe_ in him, the way Vashj did. The Master's words rang true in the Elf's long, pointed ears, and steeled his heart against any fear. Illidan quite often had that effect upon him.

"Your will be done, Master," Kael declared, his own eyes hard and determined. "I would burn the length and breadth of sky for you--" And Kael stopped, worried when his heart rose into his throat that he might say something he would regret. That he would let the beautiful demon that had been haunting his dreams since first he set foot in Outland know that his fealty was not simply born of obligation to his own people's well-being, and that his fears for him had little to do with the mission itself. Illidan simply could not know. There was too much at stake, here. Particularly, now.

"Thank you, Kael," Illidan murmured in a tone so quiet, Kael barely heard him speak. To the prince's great shock and amazement, that firm, clawed hand moved from his shoulder to rest briefly upon his fair, frost-kissed cheek. Kael gasped, so surprised he was by the sudden sensation, and closed his eyes to steady himself.

When he opened them, Illidan Stormrage was gone, leaving only footprints in the snow.


	2. At the Brink

Some few hours after Illidan's departure from the Sin'dorei camp, Kael'thas paced anxiously inside the Arcane Sanctum, his fears growing more uncharacteristically paranoid with every passing moment. It simply wasn't like him to be this agitated; his skin was clammy and unusually pale, and he felt as though his heart would burst out of his chest.

For all his adult life, Kael had always been the consummate commander and tactician. He was always extremely confident in his ability to lead, and perhaps more importantly, defer to the wisdom of others when necessary for the greater good--from his time as a member of Dalaran's shadowy Council of Six, to conferring with his own lieutenants to act in the best interest of the Sin'dorei once it was clear the so-called Alliance had abandoned them to fate. What on earth was it about Northrend, this situation, that was driving him to such ill-favored distraction?

It was not as though Kael felt him capable of treachery toward his people, despite his admittedly checkered past. Why could he not simply trust that his master knew what he was doing, after all that had happened? Of course, that question was hypothetical. The answer was obvious to anyone who was paying attention, much less an archmage as singularly astute as Kael'thas Sunstrider. Quite simply, he was letting his romantic feelings for Illidan cloud his judgment. He was not afraid that Illidan was lying to him, or meant to deny him his chance at revenge against the man who was responsible for the destruction of his kingdom and his people's malady. Kael was afraid that Illidan, a man he'd grown to love more than anyone else in his life, was going to die out there, and he would never see him again. Logically speaking, that was a positively ridiculous notion, of course. Illidan Stormrage was over ten-thousand years old, was the most feared demon hunter to ever walk the face of Azeroth, had stood down and usurped a pit fiend of his residence, and Light knew what else.

The Elven prince sighed and reached for the bottle of pinot noir that rested on the table before him, but then hesitated and drew his hand away. How much longer could this stand, truly? They were not even halfway to the Frozen Throne. Surely the danger would only grow from here. Kael would grow mad if he did not find a way to keep his emotions in check, and soon--because the only alternative, admitting his feelings to his master, was absolutely out of the question. Not only was it wholly inappropriate, and not remotely the time or place for such sentiment, but Kael flinched from what he felt would be the inevitable result of such a confession. It pained him even now to think of it, to even acknowledge as a passing thought the very stark reality that his love for Illidan would forever be an unrequited one. He was not about to go through that again, not after what happened with Jaina Proudmoore.

Vashj's words from the Black Temple _still_ stung his heart, all the more so because he knew very well they were the unmitigated truth. There was no doubt in Kael's mind that Illidan was incapable of returning his love, that his master's heart still belonged to Lady Tyrande after all these countless years. Better that Kael suffer and Illidan never confirm that truth with his own words. This constant, gnawing trepidation he felt was infinitely preferable to the crushing despair _that_ would cause in Kael. The ridiculous melancholy that overcame him when Jaina spurned him in favor of Arthas would pale in the face of Illidan's rejection, and that was not something _any_ of them needed right now. Particularly with this entire expedition--and likely Illidan's very life--resting on their shoulders.

Kael vigorously shook his head, as if to clear it of all this maudlin nonsense. He was Commander here, and his soldiers needed him. He gathered his wits and stepped outside the Sanctum to take stock of the situation. His engineers, as equally skilled with the hammer as with the spell, had all but repaired the breaches to the watch towers made by the Scourge's ghastly siege engines. The priests were quick at work tending to the few Elves that were wounded in the battle. As he passed through the camp, their faces shone with defiance and determination, even as their eyes dimmed in that tell-tale sign of arcane withdrawal. Truthfully, he himself was beginning to grow ill again, because he'd had little opportunity to siphon mana from the fel crystals he kept in his personal belongings. Kael was turning toward his private pavilion to do just that, when he saw a pair of his runners returning to the base.

"Prince Kael'thas!"

A pair of Farstriders were sprinting toward the base, their faces grim. Kael met them at the edge of the camp and returned their salutes.

"What is going on, rangers?" Kael demanded.

"It's Arthas, my liege!" The lead ranger, a svelte blonde woman, gestured toward the horizon. "He has slain a mighty servant of the Blue Dragonflight and raised him through the Lich King's eldritch power to serve his will!" Kael's eyes grew wide and he grabbed the ranger by her shoulders, his fingers grasping the leather armor as though he were afraid she would run away without answering the one question that plagued him.

"What news of Lord Stormrage?" Kael's voice shot up an octave, the panic within it barely contained.

"He--my Prince, as we speak, he makes for the northern pass," the ranger answered, clearly startled by his suddenly crazed demeanor. Her partner, a lanky, crimson-haired male with a prominent dragonhawk tattoo on his arm, leaned in, placing a comforting hand upon the small of her back.

"My Prince, we overheard the spider lord speaking of a vast network of tunnels deep beneath the earth, where his kingdom once stood. Lord Stormrage believes Arthas seeks these tunnels as a shortcut to Icecrown, and the Throne," the male Farstrider elaborated. "The Master is moving to guard the entrance to that passage. Lady Vashj's naga have already blockaded the waterways to cut off their vessels."

Kael reached back in his memories, to his studies in Dalaran, and a single name came to him out of the pages of the Kirin Tor histories: that of the ancient kingdom of the Nerubians of which this "spider lord" was clearly one. "Azjol-Nerub..." he muttered absently. A steely resolve came over him, and his emerald eyes narrowed to near-slits. The fretting, lovesick fool was gone and the steadfast military genius had taken his place. Mercifully so.

"_Get your men over there!_" the Prince barked, following a long string of colorful oaths in Thalassian. Kael's initial instincts had proven correct, and now Illidan's sudden, baffling insistence on caution was about to cost him his life. He tore away from the scouts and immediately began shouting orders to his troops. "To me, Blood Mages! Engineers, I want those glaive throwers moved--_now!_ By the Light and the Nether, we _must_ defend that pass! That motherless bastard must not be allowed to break through our blockade!"

Kael's sense of urgency was not lost on any of his soldiers. The mages quickly opened portals and sent the engines--the slowest moving of their forces--on ahead. The others carried out his commands with no less brutal efficiency, and within the span of only a few moments nearly the entire Sin'dorei force was marching toward the ravine which led to Azjol-Nerub, with only a token force left to hold the base. It was a gamble, but one Kael was forced to take--if Arthas broke through to Azjol-Nerub, those tunnels could potentially leave him on Ner'zhul's doorstep, and then it would not matter if one solitary base still stood.

They raced as fast as possible, Kael and his sorcerers and spellbreakers jumping far out in front due to the arcane power they commanded. It was of no concern to him. He had to get to Illidan before Arthas, or worse--that accursed--

And then he heard it: an ethereal, otherworldly cry of unfathomable rage, and it was as though it threatened to split apart the very skies above them. Kael's hands instinctively flew to his Elven ears to protect them, sensitive as they were. That was no banshee. His soldiers sent up the cry, taking to arms:

Frost wyrm.

It was a massive creature whose flesh had rotted away entirely, leaving only a gargantuan skeleton bathed in an eerie sapphire light. It rose up from the depths of the ravine to the east, bringing with it what seemed to be an endless horde of ghouls and eldritch re-animated horrors. Some were haphazardly stitched together from random corpses, others were banshees that wore the faces of Quel'thalas' numerous dead. All were scenes out of nightmare. The wyrm cried out its challenge to the Sin'dorei once more, and took to skeletal wing.

Adrenaline rushing through his veins, Kael's hand went to the golden hilt of his longsword, the gorgeous heirloom once wielded by the greatest of his ancestors and passed down as a symbol of his House's authority. As he slid it from its jeweled sheath at his belt, it immediately leapt into burning arcane flame. Raising it defiantly into the air, he cried out his response.

"_Bash'a no falor talah!_" Kael screamed, and charged into battle.

Pillars of flame shot forth from behind him, arcing skyward to blast the wyrm. The Farstriders loosed their enchanted arrows after them at a signal from their commander. Those were followed by the dragonhawk riders, darting to and fro to engage the diving gargoyles in aerial dogfights before turning on the great wyrm.

Back on the ground, Kael cut a burning path through the shambling ghouls, his fiery sword carving through them as though they were simple rag dolls. He turned to face an abomination that was lumbering toward him with exceptional speed, and when the disgusting thing swung its enormous grappling hook at him to yank him forward, Kael spun with the effortless grace of a fencer, easily dodging the clumsy blow. He used his flaming sword as a conductor for his arcane energy, and brought it down in a single sharp movement, slicing open the creature's stitching until all manner of worms and larvae poured out, and with a final shudder it fell apart into its component parts. All around him, the Sin'dorei spellbreakers and assorted knights were making easy work of the Scourge and human cultists in close range. Once it was clear they had the ground battle well in hand, Kael gestured broadly with his sword in the direction of the Nerubian pass.

"Go, my brothers and sisters! Join Lord Illidan's blockade, and avenge your children upon Arthas!"

With a mighty cry in response, they moved on, thundering to the north.

When Kael looked up at the sky to gauge the aerial battle, it also seemed to be going well--with one notable exception. Though the banshees and gargoyles seemed to be mostly vanquished, there was still the problem of the frost wyrm. The rangers and blood mages were doing enough to keep it distracted, but they just could not seem to penetrate the creature's defenses. It dove and spun suddenly, then reared back and released a broad cone of frost from its gaping maw, taking out an entire regiment of mages.

Kael knew what he had to do, he could not risk any further casualties. He quickly and purposefully began to etch a swirling sigil into the snow with his sword, comprised of ancient Highborne runes and intricate spirals. To the untrained eye, it could have appeared that he was engaged in some sort of intricate sword dance, spinning and twirling, flames coiling about his limbs like serpents. When he was finished, he grasped the hilt of the blade with both hands and raised it to the sky.

"Al'ar, great Lord of the Phoenixes, House Sunstrider summons and stirs thee! I command thee to aid in my battle this day! May thou cleanse the miasma of death from this land with thy fires of rebirth!"

Kael slammed his sword into the center of the sigil, setting it aflame upon the surface of the snow. A fiery whirlwind engulfed him, and the spell was cast into the heavens. Descending from the sky in a great ball of flame, the mighty phoenix swept across the battlefield leaving burning death in its wake. It lowered dangerously close to the frozen ground, and when it glided close to Kael, he leapt on its back and rode the great beast right in the direction of the frost wyrm.

Weaving his sword in spiraling patterns, Kael engaged the undead horror in single combat. He guided Al'ar to the creature's hindquarters, blasting it again and again with arcane fire, then dove beneath it to dodge a sweep of its tail. When he attempted a thrust of his blade between the wyrm's ribs, his sword felt as though it hit a stone wall, and was easily repulsed. Kael would need to find a weak spot, and quickly. Spiraling on the phoenix, he emerged upon the monster's left, opposite flank. Wait--the archmage blinked, finding what he was looking for. Triumphantly, he raised his arms and began chanting another fire spell, this time aiming for the large, sapphire orb encased inside the skeleton. Now, the cursed thing would be finished!

A sudden wave of dizziness slammed into Kael as soon as he released the flames from his fingertips. Though they indeed made their mark, sending the wyrm into a great cry of pain, he would not be able to see it, because with that magical fire went the last of Kael's energy. The withdrawal symptoms had worsened with the sheer amount of energy he was expending in the battle, and now it had rendered him helpless. He swooned, his brain and his body consumed by unfathomable hunger, and Al'ar--no longer able to hold his form with his master faltering--began to fade into dying embers and dissipate into the cold winter air.

Then Kael began to fall.

The last thing the Prince of the Sin'dorei remembered, the last sensation he felt, was the cold creeping up his ankles, inching up his legs and easing across his body like a cresting wave. It was, unbearable, unnatural, this cold, and when it reached his face it felt as though it was suffocating him. Utterly spent and deep in the grip of magic withdrawal, Kael'thas could not even scream or cry out for aid.

Silently, he prayed that Illidan would not be the one to find his corpse.


	3. Wrath of the Betrayer

They should have been here by now.

Illidan scowled, taking his frustration out on an unfortunate ghoul that lunged toward him. Without looking back or even flinching, he slammed his fist into the thing's skull, backhanding it into the nearby cliffside effortlessly with his preternatural strength. His senses, honed to a deadly degree by his Demon Hunter's training as well as from his mundane eyes being burned from the sockets, were far beyond those of an ordinary Night Elf. All around him was the stench of death, but Illidan could distinguish a thousand variations on that theme. He heard the tell-tale hissing and sensed the dark energy of two more minor Scourge coming at him. Leaping, spinning a graceful arc in the air, Illidan whirled his warglaives like some mad dervish until the undead creatures were little more than a spray of rotting flesh and unholy black ichor. It was too easy for words.

The wretched fools who dared tempt his wrath were the last thing on his mind at the moment, however. Again, his unnatural eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of that familiar energy signature, and still there was nothing. Where the bloody hell were the Sin'dorei? Illidan had sent for them it seemed an eternity ago, and it simply wasn't like Kael to be so undependable. There were many reasons the self-proclaimed Lord of Outland had chosen him as his right hand, but above all Kael was tremendously loyal and reliable. Something wasn't right here, and it concerned Illidan deeply.

No matter. He had no doubt that Kael would arrive and join the battle any moment now. In the meantime, Illidan would show these curs his true power; it was not as if he could not hold this ground himself. He pressed on, beating back the Scourge forces through sheer force of his own power and indomitable will. They fell like chaff under his blades and before the power of his fel magic.

Some moments later, as he wrenched a warglaive free from the lacerated corpse of a human cultist, Illidan's highly sensitive ears heard the roar of the frost wyrm, followed by cries of dragonhawks in the distance, and battle oaths shouted in Thalassian.

Ah, he's here, Illidan thought. Fortuitous timing, that. Even Illidan was not willing to tempt fate by his lonesome against a re-animated servant of Malygos the Spellweaver.

Whatever lingering irritation Illidan felt at Kael's tardiness was gone when he witnessed that golden streak of fire charging into the fray. The Prince of the Sin'dorei was proving Illidan's faith in him to be wholly justified. Even as Illidan was annihilating the undead that stood against him, he watched the twisting coils of arcane energy burning across the sky with a certain amount of pride in his prized lieutenant. Indeed, Kael was truly magnificent to behold in battle, all precision and savage beauty, his magic as elegant as it was brutal. He cut the undead down as though it were child's play; it all looked so effortless the way he dispatched them with flame and blade. _This_ was the power of a true Highborne, Illidan thought proudly, his heart racing from the excitement of it all. There were few who bore that legacy with as much grace and finesse as the last son of House Sunstrider. That fate conspired to bring them together was something Illidan was tremendously grateful for.

A banshee attempted to take him by surprise, shooting bolts of spectral lightning at him, and Illidan just smirked. He quickly pivoted and crossed his warglaives before him to create a shield, easily deflecting the energy before engulfing the spirit in demonic fire. Turning back toward Kael's men, it appeared that some of them were joining his naga at the blockade. Excellent. Just as he was about to fall back to their position, Illidan felt a tremendous rush of magical energy released in the distance, a cresting wave of scorching heat that left shimmering ripples on the horizon. He laughed at that, a sinister sound filled with dark anticipation and, oddly enough, a slight undercurrent of relief.

Kael was full of such wonderful tricks.

The Demon Hunter turned his back to the emergent phoenix, his attention fully engrossed by the human necromancer raising a pack of axe-wielding skeletons headed his way. How utterly foolish. Contemptuously, he beheaded three of them in a sweeping gesture of a single warglaive, then tucked and rolled to gut their summoner. Several sprung from the ground in their place, and again Illidan destroyed them. They were just wasting his time, now.

And then he understood why, what twisted logic Arthas had employed. Illidan understood why he was lured here. And he understood it when the faintest of cries pierced his ears.

..._Master_...

It was unmistakably Kael. Illidan looked back sharply, his unnatural eyes widening in horror as he saw the Sun Prince's bright, solar fire flaring out in a blaze of glory, as though he was a literal sun that exploded into nothingness. Sapphiron was mortally wounded and retreating, but that was not what Illidan cared about. Kael was falling away from the fleeing wyrm, the mighty phoenix vanished, and he was--no. _No_.

Not my _thero'shan_.

For the briefest of moments, Illidan was detached, looking with frozen bemusement at the sudden rush of emotion that was beginning to overtake him. It was a strange moment of pure lucidity where he wondered why the hell he was feeling this way, and where the hell this sense of...regret came from. Yes, it was regret, and a great sorrow. Illidan was aware of his impulsive nature, that he was a man of great passions. But this startled and even frightened him a bit, the sheer power of this...grief. The moment passed as quickly as he acknowledged it.

Then the dam broke.

It was as though all the pain, all the bitterness of ten-thousand years of unjust confinement, the betrayal and scorn of his people and the woman he loved, every terrible emotion that Illidan had ever felt came crashing down on him at once, as quickly as his golden prince was careening from the sky. But it didn't stop there. Illidan Stormrage would for once in his wretched life know _justice_, he would know _vengeance_, and all would finally know what it meant to wrong him.

It grew within him, the fel power of the Skull of Gul'dan which infused his veins, building to a dark crescendo until he threatened to burst. With an utterly inhuman, wordless roar of anger and grief, Illidan gave himself wholly over to the demonic monster within, leaving any physical trace of the Kaldorei demon hunter that remained to wither in the face of that primordial taint awakening within him. His skin brightened and hardened, its pale, ash-violet turning to a dark, rich purple. The ever-present warglaives faded, the essence of their power absorbed into his claws. Shrouded in a shadowy nimbus, he was fully the demon now, in every sense of the word and filled with absolute, unholy rage.

His great, leathery wings flared when he raised his massive claws into fists, engulfing himself in an aura of demonic fire. A single word echoed from his lips in a voice that only in the loosest sense resembled his own, a cry of loss as heart-wrenching as it was utterly terrifying:

"_Kael'thas!_"

Illidan did not run so much as glide across the broken battlefield; time seemed to slow down. He was only tangentially aware of his claws sweeping upward to violently tear the abomination's head in a single fluid motion, and the sickening smell of its melting flesh against his burning nimbus. A sweeping gesture of his arm and fire rained from the sky, a jerking gesture of his head and something impaled itself on his horns--he was not even certain what it was. Everything was as a blur of shadow and fire and abject fury. The sheer destruction he left in his wake was incalculable, as he made his way to where Kael lay. And then he came upon the theatre where it all happened.

The remaining Blood Elves were outnumbered, set upon by yet another regiment of undead, and unable to reach their fallen prince. A trio of necromancers swooped in on Kael's body like vultures, already beginning their unholy rites. However, even in Illidan's battle haze, he recognized that incantation. He'd heard it performed by the Nathrezim in their experiments so long ago, amongst the rubble of Zin-Azshari.

The human mongrels intended to make Kael a lich.

However, as incensed as Illidan was at the thought, he was suddenly shaken out of his demonic rage and gained some kind of lucidity back. Lesser sorcerers were ignorant to the fact that the kind of magic involved in such an act had to be worked while the candidate was still alive. Surely Arthas' lackeys knew that. Which meant Kael was still, in fact, alive.

Illidan immediately set to work, fighting his way through the lesser Scourge that were swarming to protect their masters, and reached the cultists just as they were attempting to finish the preparation spell and load Kael into one of their ghastly wagons made of human flesh.

"I believe that belongs to me," Illidan snarled. With quick, successive gestures of his claws, he set the black-cowled trio alight, then snatched up Kael's weakened body and fled.

Half-running, half-gliding across the smoking snowfield, he clutched Kael tightly against him in a vice grip. Illidan could sense that the Elf had been drained entirely of his magic. For ones such as they, deep in the grip of arcane addiction, it would have been a better fate to have been drained of one's life blood. If Illidan did not get him energy, and soon, Kael would be forever lost to him. A plan formulated in his mind, but first he needed to find a place of concentrated power.

Fortunately, this region seemed to be filled with such points of power. Were it not for the pressing urgency of Kil'jaeden's mission, Illidan would have been eager to remain and study them. Of course, saving his own hide was a bit more important at the moment. He let his magic-attuned eyes and senses guide him across the snowfield, drawn across a hidden ley line.

"Master?" Kael shuddered weakly, clearly disoriented. Illidan remembered that Kael had never seen him in pure demonic form before, wielding the full powers of the Skull's energies.

"Yes, it's me," Illidan reassured him softly, but Kael had already slipped back into unconsciousness. Swearing to himself, Illidan pressed on, until the ground became colder, more solidified, and the snowbank opened out into a ravine. It appeared the earth itself had split apart at some point in the distant past, and the resulting trench was composed entirely of softly glowing, crystalline ice. Illidan leapt down into it, his massive wings acting as a sort of parachute to break his fall. Moving quickly from ledge to ledge, he at last reached a cave entrance on the floor. Still clinging to Kael, he raced inside to find the ley line's terminus.

Illidan only hoped that he was not too late.


	4. A Kind of Magic

Kael's eyes slowly flickered open, and he awakened to find himself laying flat on his back in a small cave. There was a small fire burning in a pit nearby, but when he tried to sit up and warm himself, his body simply wouldn't respond. It wasn't that he was necessarily in pain, however--he was simply weak. So confoundedly weak that he could not even will himself to turn his head and examine his strange surroundings. Where was this place? Kael vaguely remembered the fight with the frost wyrm, but little else. He sighed a bit in frustration.

"Our sleeping prince awakens. Welcome back."

It was the voice of his master, his voice only half-filled with sarcasm. Illidan sat on the opposite side of the fire, his back resting against the cave wall, resting an arm upon his raised knee.

"Master," Kael mumbled in confusion. "Where...are we?"

"Somewhere that I can help you," Illidan replied.

"What? I--don't understand."

"You've almost entirely exhausted the magic inside yourself," Illidan explained, rising to his feet. "If you don't receive an infusion of power, you may die."

Kael blinked, startled by the severity of the situation. He'd never heard of such a thing before--of course, he'd also never heard of anyone becoming _addicted_ to magic in the first place, and it was perfectly clear how that turned out.

"How...?" Kael gasped. Illidan crouched down beside him, and to Kael's astonishment, gently swept a lock of golden hair from his brow and rested a hand upon it.

"This cave is pulsating with magic. Surely you can feel it?" Illidan asked. However, it was perhaps the wrong time to ask such a thing of Kael. The only thing that he could feel just then was the warmth and tenderness of his master's touch, and it was driving him to absolute distraction.

"I..." Kael sort of stammered, and the telltale hint of red began to creep into his cheeks. Try as he may, he simply couldn't concentrate. There was something in the way Illidan touched him, a softness there, that made Kael feel even weaker.

"Perhaps it's worse than I imagined," Illidan said, frowning. "Can you move at all?" Kael pressed his hands against the cavern floor, to attempt to boost himself up, but failed.

"I can't," he answered.

"Very well. Try to hold on, if you can."

Then Illidan bent forward slightly, and the next thing Kael knew, he was being lifted up off the floor, and scooped up into the demon hunter's massive, powerful arms, as though he weighed nothing at all. His master took an unbelievable amount of care in doing so, clutching him tightly, and Kael's heart skipped a beat. There was no describing the security in such a feeling; he felt as though nothing in the world could harm him at that very moment.

Rising to his feet, Illidan carried him a short distance across the cave. It was then that Kael could see the entire place was sheathed in a beautiful, crystalline ice. The walls shimmered in tones of sparkling azure blue, and then Kael suddenly understood what Illidan was talking about. The cavern buzzed with pure arcane power; the very air itself was thick with it, filling the room with a soft, blue haze. As they passed through it, Kael was already beginning to feel a little better.

They stopped at the edge of a large pool saturated in that same blue glow, steam rising from its surface, being fed from a font pouring out of the icy rock. It seemed as though it were some sort of natural hot spring that had been altered somehow, changed by the raw magic in the air to the point where the power was even more greatly concentrated within it. Illidan stepped slowly into, the water only reaching to about his shins, and crouched down once more, Kael still in hand.

"I...want to try something. Tap into the spring, if you can," Illidan suggested. Kael nodded weakly and let his hand brush against the surface of the water. Concentrating deeply upon the flows of power within it, he attempted to extract the energy out...but nothing. He could not even do so simple a thing. He swore a particularly nasty invective in Thalassian, then clenched his jaw.

"I've never been this...useless in my life."

"Be still," Illidan said sharply. "You are far from useless, young Kael. Simply wounded. But I will fix that."

Kael stared in bemusement at him, as he gently took Kael's hand from the water, grasping it tightly, stroking it with his thumb. By the Light, his touch was so calming, the prince thought. Suddenly, however, Illidan guided the hand to his bare, powerfully built chest, to rest upon one of the Eredun tattoos etched into his pectorals. Oddly, Kael could feel his heart beating, and it was pounding as quickly as his own. What was his master about?

"Take my magic," Illidan whispered, urging him in the most seductive voice Kael had ever heard in his life. "Feed from me, Kael. Make my power your own."

"What?" Kael balked, so taken aback by the strange command that he lost all conception that he was speaking to the man whom he'd sworn absolute allegiance to. It was an unbelievably reckless thing to suggest--and, were Kael completely honest with himself, so very typically Illidan. His master was not always the most rational sort. "I could kill you."

"Do you take me for a fool, Kael? Why do you think I brought you to this place, to enjoy the scenery?" Illidan scoffed. "This cave is filled to bursting with arcane energy. It will sustain me as you feed."

"But this is madness, Master--"

"Do you wish to wither and die, bereft of the very thing that sustains you?"

"Of course not."

"Then feed," Illidan said again, his tone almost oddly pleading. He tilted his head, stroking Kael's hand again with a thumb. "Please, my _thero'shan_. Allow me to do this small thing for you."

Kael's heart skipped a beat at the old Darnassian word, a term imbued with such meaning and spoken with such heart-filled sentiment that he could have sworn he imagined it. Did he truly mean that much to Illidan? Kael, Archmage of the Kirin Tor, who was like a novice to Illidan's ancient, preternatural eyes--was he truly the beloved student he strove so hard to be for him? He stared up at Illidan, so darkly handsome in the soft cobalt light, swirls of energy dancing around his horns like fireflies, the expression upon his face tender and filled with concern. Perhaps there was even affection in that beautiful face, though Kael firmly believed that was wishful thinking on his part. But he couldn't deny the tenderness with which Illidan held him, the soothing feel of his touch, and the temptation was almost unbearable. To tap into his master's very own demonic power, to share that part of him when it was offered so freely...it was so seductive an idea, so enticing.

"...if you insist," Kael whispered in response. He spread his fingers wide upon the tattoo, feeling with not only his mundane sense of touch but with his arcane senses as well. By the Nether...Illidan was like a walking reservoir of fel energy. Kael had never felt any creature, not even the magic-rich imps of Outland, with as much concentrated power as Illidan. It called to him, this enormous power, with a siren's song of temptation that spoke directly to the ravenous hunger inside him.

Closing his eyes, Kael reached out to that power, drawing it out with his will. He heard Illidan gasp sharply then, and he immediately opened his eyes in alarm, worried that he may have caused him some kind of pain. Illidan made one of those half-smiles at him. "I'm fine. I simply wasn't expecting such a sensation. Continue, by all means."

Kael nodded, and began the process anew. As the fel magic slowly leeched out of Illidan and traveled through Kael's fingertips, coiling up his arm, an undeniably pleasant tingle crept up his spine. Already, he could feel the life returning to his limbs, his body. His spirit was growing lighter. The slow trickle was not enough, however, and only made Kael crave more. Shifting slightly in Illidan's arms, he brought up his other hand to place it against the other tattoo on his chest. And then Kael drained his magic in earnest.

The moan that escaped Illidan's lips was intoxicating. It wasn't pain the demon hunter was feeling, not at all. Something entirely more pleasant than that, and it was apparent from the hot breath upon his brow becoming more labored with every passing moment. Kael's own breath became heavy, his eyes half closed, lips parted slightly. Illidan pulled him so tightly against him, cradling him with trembling hands, that Kael was pressed against his own hands. The Elven prince could feel his body--and Illidan's--quicken with excitement, in every sense of the word.

The intimacy of the moment threatened to overwhelm Kael. As Illidan's energy coursed through his veins, it burned like liquid flame, and his entire body felt as though it were on fire. Quickening him with his own life force, Kael gave himself over entirely to the sensation, his spirit soaring to heights of near-delirium. Fully recovered now, feeling more alive and powerful than he'd ever been, Kael should have ceased the draining but he couldn't, it wasn't enough, ye gods it would never be enough...

Illidan's powerful hands clawed their way up his back, and Kael moaned softly, losing his concentration entirely, severing the arcane connection, and the font of power abruptly closed. He scarcely noticed, however, because it was at that moment that Illidan's fingers became tangled in his golden hair, his lips were parted, and his master slipped his tongue inside his mouth to kiss him deeply. The hunger in that kiss, the passion loosed within it, was very nearly unbearable.

"Master..." Kael breathed, thinking quite seriously for a moment that he was dreaming again, that Illidan could not have possibly done what he thought he just did. For his part, Illidan merely gave him another enigmatic smile, and ran his fingers through his long, tangled hair.

"Yes, my prince?"

"I don't understand." And it was the honest truth.

"But must you?" Illidan said in a hushed tone. "What is there to understand? Is this not the proof of what I want?"

As if to emphasize his point, Illidan kissed him again, with even more urgency than the first time, and Kael would have tipped over had he not been cradled so tightly. Though every instinct said otherwise, Kael pulled away from the kiss, and turned away from him. "But..." and the sentence trailed off somewhat helplessly, as Kael was suddenly terribly afraid of what he would say next. But what about Tyrande, but this isn't enough for me no matter how good it feels, but your body will never be enough for me, because--

"I'm in love with you, Illidan."

The sentence escaped his throat before Kael could even realize he uttered it. And it occurred to him that in the deepest recesses of his heart, he did not think of Illidan as "Master". There was no longer Master and Servant in this cave, not the Lord of Outland and the Prince of the Sin'dorei. There were simply two men entangled in each other's arms, drawn and held together by something far greater than themselves.

"Kael'thas," Illidan whispered softly, and Kael felt as though he could hear him say it a thousand times and never grow tired of it. Illidan lightly trailed a clawed finger across his jaw line, then firmly turned his chin so that Kael would face him again. "Do you think I didn't know?"

Kael's eyes grew wide in shock and embarrassment. "You...knew?"

"Your words and actions betray you more than you realize," Illidan answered. "I am not as blind as you think I am."

Of course, Kael thought. Why wouldn't he have known? In Kael's pride, he'd forgotten how old and cunning the demon hunter was, and he'd rather foolishly underestimated him. Kael suddenly felt quite sheepish. However, there was no escaping the next logical question. It would eventually crop up sooner or later.

"What does this mean, then?" Kael asked him. "Am I simply being a fool for feeling the way I do?"

"A fair question," Illidan acknowledged, resting his palm on Kael's cheek. "But you are no fool, my Kael. Perhaps, if you are, then I am the greater one."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that perhaps I have clung to the bitterness of the past for far too long," Illidan admitted. "That I believed I my unfortunate tendency toward maudlin sentimentality would be the end of me. It may, as yet. But I can no longer deny or second guess myself, not after what happened on that battlefield. I cannot deny that when I believed you slain by Sapphiron, I nearly lost my mind."

It was a long, silent moment that hung in the azure haze, Kael not knowing how to respond to Illidan laying his soul bare. He never did, because seeing this larger-than-life figure from infamy and legend become so vulnerable was still startling, even now, no matter how many times he'd seen it before.

How many times? Was it really that...yes, it was. Why hadn't he seen this, before? It struck Kael that this was not the first time Illidan had opened himself up to him in such a fashion. He'd done it almost from the moment they met; there was something about Kael that made Illidan feel that he could tell him anything. And he never did that for _anyone_, not even Vashj had seen this quiet, brooding side of their shared master. To the others, Illidan had never presented himself as anything less than the powerful Lord of Outland. Only Kael had ever seen the wounded man that lay buried deep beneath that facade.

"But, what of Lady Tyrande?" Kael said softly. Illidan hunched down to rest his cheek upon the crown of Kael's head, almost clinging to him as though he were afraid he was going to slip through his hands.

"There is a part of me that will always love Tyrande," Illidan replied, the pain still evident in his voice, in the reverent way he spoke her name. "To say that I could ever forget her...that is something I cannot do. But I can tell you, my Kael, that this love I feel for you burns inside me brighter than your precious Sunwell. You have stolen a heart I no longer thought I had or wanted to give to another."

The sensation he felt when he was absorbing Illidan's magic was absolutely nothing compared to what Kael was feeling then, at that moment, when his master spoke those passionate words. Every ridiculous daydream, every seemingly unattainable fantasy he'd had was coming true.

"Illidan." It was all Kael could say, imbued with every emotion he was overcome with.

"_Dalah'surfal_," Illidan purred in response, teasing Kael's long, pointed ear with a languid stroke of a finger.

And then there was another kiss, but this time it was Kael, wrapping his arms around Illidan's neck, pushing up against him with a fury and an urgency that seemed to startle him.

"Are honeyed words all you have left, Master?" Kael's voice was thick with lust.

"Not at all."

Illidan's hands began to wander down the torn, scarlet robes Kael wore, finding the eye-hooks which bound them together with ease, and he knew then that this was no dream.

***

Kael lay there in the shallow water for a long moment, unable to move and not really caring if he ever did again. Idly, he watched tendrils of his hair fan out and float upon the water. Illidan smiled at him, then bent down to lay beside him. It was a long and silent moment they spent side by side, but then Kael rolled over to rest his head upon Illidan's broad chest. A wing enfolded on them both, when Illidan wrapped an arm about him, and smiled.

"Did I break you?" he teased. Kael chuckled, and shook his head as much as he could.

"I don't believe so. But walking may prove to be a minor issue," Kael quipped, with a wry grin. Illidan kissed the top of his head, and laughed at him.

"We can always say it was the Scourge that got you. It may be an easier explanation for Vashj's priestesses."

"I think so--wait, what _do_ we tell Vashj?" Kael suddenly frowned. She was bound to ask questions about their sudden absence.

"That...is entirely up to you, my love, and what you are comfortable with. I have absolutely nothing to hide, but if you think it better that she not know, for the sake of your friendship..." Illidan shrugged.

"I think...I would rather just lay here with you and think about it later."

"As would I," Illidan agreed. "Unfortunately, that is not really an option now, as you well know. There is too much to be done."

Kael sighed, because he knew his master was right. Already he could feel the weight of his responsibilities shifting back onto his shoulders, as he turned his thoughts back to his soldiers. Did they make a clean retreat? How many had perished? Was the blockade successful? A million questions rose in his mind, and while his personal happiness had never been greater...that brief respite, that time of rest where he was simply Kael making love to the man he cared for...that was over. Now it was time for him to become Prince Kael'thas once more, last son of House Sunstrider, Lord and Commander of the Sin'dorei. Illidan, too, would have to turn from him to once again assume the mantle of the dread Lord of Outland. He already saw his lover steeling himself to return to the front, and if Kael thought about it any longer, melancholy would set in, and Kael was never one to wallow in self-pity.

Simply put, they both had a mission to complete.

It did not take very long to get cleaned up and re-clothed. Though Kael was in fact as sore as he'd ever been in his life, he had no problem following Illidan out of the cave. Illidan raised his hand as if to conjure a portal, but paused, and turned back to him.

"What is it, Master?" Kael asked.

"I..." Illidan started, with uncharacteristic reticence. He stopped to gather his thoughts, and then continued. "I want you to know that what happened in there...that was not merely a matter of lust."

"I know."

"We enter dangerous territory from here on, Kael. And I want you to know that, if you will it, there will be a thousand more times such as that, for as long as you wish it so. I will never forsake you, Kael'thas Sunstrider. Never. Remember that always, no matter what manner of horrors Arthas sends our way, no matter what we may find when we reach Icecrown."

And Illidan pulled him into a fierce embrace, enfolding him in his wings.

"I will protect you, always," Illidan whispered fiercely. Kael returned the embrace, and reached up to kiss him.

"I would die for you, Illidan."

"...let us pray it does not come to that."


	5. Postmortem

Perhaps it was the wind that made the bitter cold seem that much more unbearable. Kael's fingers clung to the hem of his massive Sin'dorei cloak, seeking some manner of protection against that terrible arctic wind as he trudged with singular purpose through the freshly fallen snow. The biting nature of that cold was not simply a consequence of walking on the roof of the world, either; perhaps those naive and untouched by such sensations would know no better, but Kael'thas Sunstrider knew all too well the meaning of this wind. This was no mere winter's chill, not in this icy, desolate wasteland. This was the chill of the grave, teeming with the decrepit scent of ancient, malevolent decay. It was the same ill wind that swept across his beloved Quel'Thalas, and it sunk into the Sin'dorei Prince's very bones. Even the hellfires of broken Draenor were preferable to this. Still, Kael soldiered on, despite the growing palsy of his hands making it ever more difficult to hold onto his cape. It was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

They'd all thought it was suicide, those few that remained. No one, not even the Master, could have survived such an onslaught. The fear and doubt in their eyes was apparent; they did not want to lose their Prince, not now, not when they had lost everything, and certainly not to a fool's mission as this. Kael, however, was steadfast: the survivors were to return to Quel'Thalas, and he would send word of his safe return to Draenor. They obeyed his command, returning to the Naga vessels, even as their hearts trembled with dread.

Only one remained with him: the woman who'd been at his side every step of the way, to whom he and all his people owed so much. She was not about to abandon him, either one of them, to this terrible wasteland. And Kael could think of no one else he'd rather have at his side in this, than the Lady Vashj.

"We will find him," she'd said simply, cunning serpentine eyes narrowed and filled with determination to rival his own. And so they walked, searching through the still-smoking battlefield for any sign, any faint trail or indication that Illidan Stormrage yet lived. They picked their way through through the wreckage, two small, insignificant figures against a backdrop of unspeakable horror: corpses both fresh and twice-formed, burned and rotting, molding bones, blood and viscera as far as the eye could see: Naga, Elf, Scourge. The stench was as unbearable as the cold; the air reeked of smoking flesh and decay. All around them, there was that disgusting taint, seeping out of the frozen earth like a festering wound. And always, ever present and oppressive as the shadows that hung above them shrouding the midnight sun, was that cold.

Kael paid none of it any heed. He was a soldier, after all. And nothing here, even in this frozen realm of nightmare, could compare to the horrors he witnessed within the ancient and storied walls of glorious Silvermoon. Fallen, broken Silvermoon, whose gleaming streets ran red with the blood of men, women, and children. They were the fortunate ones, those. How many of these rotting bags of flesh strewn about the snowbank like discarded rag dolls were once Sin'dorei, he wondered? Did they finally know peace?

He followed Vashj as she slithered past the northernmost of the obelisks that marked the theatre of their ultimate defeat, where the bulk of the Illidari forces had fallen. Towering into the sky, the runes carved into the stones still glowed with that eerie, pale blue light. Kael ran a hand along the cold stone of one, his jaw clenched in bitterness, frustration at his own failure. Illidan's hands had traced these runes, it was by his magic that they had been activated, the Gate to the Frozen Throne itself flung wide open. Illidan had accomplished it by his own power, and all they'd had to do was walk through it to destroy the Throne and Ner'zhul with it. But they had failed. They had failed to hold these obelisks, and it was that failure that, ultimately allowed Arthas to claim the very artifact they'd sought to destroy in the name of his accursed master.

It was that failure that led Kael's master, his lover and savior, to fall stricken in the snow.

For a moment--a long, agonizing moment--Kael contemplated it. He stared at the gate, still active, seductive in its siren's call. And Vashj stared at him curiously, her forked tongue flickering as if to ask what on earth he was about. With a final caress of the glowing stone, of the claw marks from Illidan's own hand, Kael clenched his fist and pounded it once in a futile gesture of grief and frustration, his jaw locked into silence. Even through the rage he felt, anger at his own failure and the renewed fires of burning hatred he felt for Arthas, reason prevailed within Kael. Nothing would be gained by going through that portal. Absolutely nothing. Only death lay at the foot of that throne, now that it was likely no longer empty.

No. Kael would not challenge Arthas, not now. Vengeance would be his another day. There was a far more important task at hand, more important to him even than cutting down the traitorous human cur that had taken everything from him that he held dear. For one thing that he cherished still remained--one person. That was something Kael believed steadfastly in the deepest recesses of his heart. And he had to find him. He would not let him die in this wretched place. He could not.

There, some yards away, one of the massive Warglaives of Azzinoth was strewn half-buried in the glacial drift. "Vashj!" Kael hissed urgently, and the Naga commander's reptilian eyes grew wide.

"He is near," she concurred with his unspoken thought. Without hesitation, the cold suddenly meaningless to him, Kael ran through the snow to the discarded weapon's resting place, his eyes alert and darting to and fro for any sign--

His blindfold. Tattered and caught upon a broken Naga myrmidon's spear, it fluttered in the breeze. Kael's heart soared as he snatched it up and turned. Surely, he must be--

There, still and silent as the dead that surrounded them, the unconscious, battered form of Illidan Stormrage lay in a pool of already congealing blood. His long, raven hair fanned out about him, loosed from the high Kaldorei tail he customarily wore it in.

"_Illidan!_" Kael screamed, oblivious to the way his stricken voice echoed and carried across the glacier. He cared not if Scourge remnants were alerted to their presence; in fact, he dared it. Racing to Illidan's side, Kael collapsed to his knees in the drift and immediately took the stricken half-demon into his arms, cradling his lifeless body, straining with all the keenness of his Elven ears for any sign of life within him.

A heartbeat. Torturously slow and faint, but it was there. And there--his breath visible in the cold. He was alive. By the Light and Shadow, Illidan was alive!

"Is he..." Vashj whispered in almost a reverent tone.

"Alive," Kael replied, and immediately his fingers went for the heavy gold clasp at his throat. He unfastened it and shrugged off the heavy cape he always wore, shifting in the snow so that Vashj could take it. Together, they carefully bundled up Illidan tightly, trying to bring some measure of warmth back to his limbs, and Kael cradled the massive demon hunter in his arms, holding him as tightly as he could to share his body warmth. "Illidan," he whispered urgently, pleading with more than a hint of desperation in his voice, "my love. Wake up. Please, wake up."

Losing him was not an option. It was that simple for Kael.

"We need to get him back to the Temple," Vashj said.

"Of course we do," he snapped a bit more sharply than he truly intended. "But we also need to make sure he's well enough to survive travel across such a great distance--not to mention finding a way back in the first place."

Vashj turned to glance at the obelisks, and gestured toward them. "They've already been attuned with his energy, and the ley lines here are still active and overflowing with power. Perhaps you could re-route the portal, as we did in the Violet Hold."

It was a reckless plan to be certain; such an outpouring of arcane power might well alert Arthas to their presence. Still, Kael could see no other alternative. They absolutely had to get back to the Black Temple as soon as possible if Illidan had any chance of survival, and this was the only shot they had.

With unbelievable gentleness--and little thought to the massive weight--Kael rose with Illidan's tightly bundled body still in his arms, carried him to the platforms and gently laid him down. He then set to work on the Gate, with Vashj hovering protectively over their fallen master. Redirecting a Gate was a difficult matter even under the best of circumstances, but with Kael's prodigious arcane talent and the sheer flow of energy in this place, he held little doubt he could accomplish it. One by one, he tapped into the power of the runes, drawing from the ley lines, and bent the Gate to his indomitable will. The tricky part would be the failsafe enchantment he would need to weave into the spell, that would collapse the Gate behind them and revert it to its previous state. It would not do, after all, to escape only to leave an open door for the Scourge to pursue them right into Outland.

Chanting to a powerful crescendo, Kael raised his arms, the trio of ever-present verdant spheres floating about him like ioun stones shimmering that much brighter, and the deep cobalt nimbus surrounding the portal faded to a deep, emerald hue. The spell was complete.

He rushed to the platform, to Illidan's side. The demon hunter's head lay upon Vashj's lap, resting against her glistening scales, a clawed hand grasped in her own. Her angular face had softened, an expression of deepest concern upon it, and she was whispering something in the Nazja tongue. When she looked up at Kael, her eyes were brimming, and he thought his heart might break inside his chest.

He was never alone in his concern for Illidan. Not ever.

Reaching down, he knelt beside them, grasping Illidan's other hand as the obelisks activated one by one, the sigils on the platform glowing as the spell did its work. To Kael's amazement, he felt the hand move, ever so slightly, the gesture faint enough that at first he thought he'd only imagined it. However, he looked down at Illidan, and his lashes fluttered, opening slowly to reveal the unnatural eyes he'd been gifted with. Eyes Kael had never seen until now, obscured as they were behind the ever-present blindfold that now rested in the folds of the cape that kept Illidan warm.

Spheres of pure fel metal stared back at him, some sort of alloy he could not fathom, etched with demonic sigils so ancient even the warlocks of old would not have recognized them. They were unlike anything Kael had ever seen in his life, either with his own eyes, or in the vast libraries of lost Dalaran. Their emerald light was dimmed but nonetheless present. Kael found them remarkably beautiful.

Illidan was weakly reaching out to him, then, trying in vain to lift his hand. Kael did it for him, lifting Illidan's hand to his cheek. When a talon weakly caressed it, Kael closed his eyes with a hitched breath. Even now, even in such a state, Illidan's touch was like nothing else.

"_Dalah'surfal_," he murmured, his voice rasping and quiet. Kael opened his eyes, his smile radiant and reassuring.

"Yes, my love," Kael answered. "I am here." However, almost soon as he'd said it, Illidan's eyes closed once more as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Sighing, Kael squeezed his hand one last time before shifting his weight, to bear him through the portal. He looked questioningly at Vashj, as if to ask for her help, but she looked as though she'd been hit with a sledgehammer. Stunned into silence by the display she'd just witnessed, the Naga stared at Kael for a long moment. Surely she had remembered the meaning of that Kaldorei endearment.

Illidan had called him "beloved".

"Quickly, we must go." Her voice was broken, it was filled with venom, grief, and a thousand emotions Kael had not the words to describe. It was what he had dreaded perhaps as much as Illidan's demise. He couldn't lose Vashj's friendship, not now, and not over this.

There was no time for that, though. Together, they retrieved the fallen warglaives and lifted Illidan, each shouldering the burden in equal measure, and stepped through the portal to Outland, to return once more to the Black Temple.

Equals in service to its Lord and Master, perhaps for the last time.


	6. Sanctuary

It was morning, though as always it was difficult to tell by the perpetually shadowed skies of the valley. Kael did find that sky unnerving at first, but he'd grown somewhat accustomed to it, and watched it curiously. The distant light of Azeroth and her twin moons danced across a canvas of inky dark greens and black, and he found it beautiful in a macabre sort of way. The Broken servitor sat the tray upon the nearby table, bowing deeply, and Kael's brief reverie was interrupted. "Your tea, my Lords."

"Thank you," Illidan said, his voice rumbling in that basso-profundo tone he often took when he was brooding. His back remained turned, the wing that was broken still set and bandaged. Kael smiled cordially at the bowing servant, and dismissed him with a brief, polite gesture. This was Illidan's private sanctuary, this lush hanging garden terrace off the Den of Mortal Delights. None were permitted there on pain of death, but for the Sin'dorei botanists who maintained it under the watchful eye of the druid Freywinn, and the occasional servant. None, that is, but the Master himself, and Kael'thas Sunstrider, his right hand. It was somewhat cooler here than elsewhere on this level of the temple, the heat of hellish Shadowmoon Valley far less oppressive and sweltering here, though Kael still wore his intricately embroidered summer robes, light and sleeveless. The terrace was pleasant, an oasis of colorful flowers, a peaceful rock fountain and cool breezes. It was perfect for morning tea, a traditional daily ritual that the urbane Blood Elf still insisted upon. Illidan, for his part, seemed to enjoy it at any rate.

Kael leaned forward in his chair, and poured himself a cup from the teapot. The steam wafted the warm scent of rich, earthy spice tinged with the faintest note of mint. This was a tea peculiar to the Draenei, Akama had said, and was believed to have healing properties-largely due to the blend of dreaming glory and mana thistle, Kael deduced. Unlike most teas of that nature, however, this one actually tasted good. It seemed to be aiding in Illidan's recovery as well, at least physically. His emotional recovery...that was an entirely different matter altogether.

"Do you want some of that nectar with yours, love?" Kael asked, pouring some tea for Illidan, and reached for a small, brightly painted earthen jar on the tray. It was a bit thicker than honey, and sweeter; it reminded Kael somewhat of the delicious nectar drinks common to Dalaran, and made him a bit wistful. "The Consortium trader brought some more of it, at my request."

Illidan did not answer him, remaining at the railing to stare out at the darkened sky. He had been so distant in the days since their return from Azeroth. As if his mind were a world away. Illidan often slipped into moods like this, but this one seemed different somehow, and it troubled Kael. He hadn't spoken about what had transpired in Icecrown. He hadn't spoken much at all, really.

"Illidan?" Kael frowned, replacing the jar on the tray. "Illidan, please. Since we've come back here, you barely eat, you barely speak; you barely even look at me sometimes. If I've displeased you, I would at least like to know why, so that I can make amends."

There was a long, terrible silence, and Kael was half-afraid that he _had_ displeased his lord, that he'd overstepped bounds in his genuine concern. Suddenly, however, Illidan broke the silence at last, and spoke. "He said that he'd claimed you."

Kael blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Arthas," Illidan scowled, and the acid that dripped from the word was palpable. "He knew. I don't know how, but he knew."

"Knew...? What are you talking about?"

"When we fought. I had the upper hand, I was-I _had_ him, and then he boasted that he'd struck you down. He crowed that Frostmourne hungered, that the damned blade claimed your soul and that you were forever lost to me. I faltered, then. I..."

Illidan's words trailed off into a kind of choked silence, and Kael sighed deeply, taking a long, soothing drink of tea. "I see," the prince said, his full lips curling into a slight frown.

"I wanted to die." The words were uttered quietly, through clenched teeth. "What did anything matter? What meaning did anything have?" Illidan continued, almost as if to answer Kael's unspoken confusion. "You were lost and I wanted to die. That was all I knew in that moment."

Impulsive to the bitter end, a raging storm of passions befitting his name. To give up so easily, to be that overwhelmed by despair...Kael didn't how to respond to such a confession; he settled for stating the obvious conclusion. "You let him strike you down." It was less an accusation than a flat statement of fact.

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

"...perhaps I lost my will to fight. Perhaps I believed I had nothing left to lose. Regardless, Arthas won. He ascended the Frozen Throne, and now he himself is the Lich King. That wretched shade has claimed his body for a host."

Kael balked, and nearly choked on his tea, in an uncharacteristically flustered gesture. "He-what?" He could scarce believe his ears. Arthas Menethil was now the Lich King? That traitorous, arrogant whelp of a human prince-barely old enough to be shaving regularly, to Kael's eyes-now commanded the power of Ner'zhul?

"I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears before I lost consciousness. Arthas freed the armor and claimed it; in their own words, they are one," Illidan elaborated. He laughed then, a dark, sickly sound filled with tangible bitterness. "I failed so utterly in my assigned task that it would be laughable if the consequences weren't so dire. So, now you know. Is your curiosity satisfied? I could not stop that impudent death knight or his master, and now my life is forfeit. Return to your people, Kael, if you know what's good for you. They need you, and there is nothing left for you here."

Kael's heart sank, and he set the cup down. Was this the burden his lover had been carrying since Northrend? "With all due respect, Illidan, I'm not leaving you."

"And why should you stay?" Illidan growled. "To die a meaningless, empty death in this wasteland? The Netherstorm is rich in arcane energy, enough to feed your hunger indefinitely. Take it all and go back to Quel'Thalas, use it to rebuild your kingdom!"

"I will not."

"Why must you be so difficult?" Illidan's claws had curled into fists then, and he was shaking. "Go, Kael'thas. Leave and forget you ever met me, if you wish to live."

Kael rose to his feet and crossed the garden to where Illidan stood. He pressed tightly against him, slipping his bare arms around Illidan's waist, and rested his cheek against that powerfully muscled back between his shoulderblades, upon the space between his wings-taking care not to touch the broken one. "I'm not going anywhere, Illidan."

The choked snarl that escaped Illidan's throat in response was half-angry, half-miserable, and it only made Kael hold onto him tighter. "I do not want to lose you, _dalah'surfal_. I can't."

"For pity's sake, Illidan. You don't want to lose me, so you think to send me away? Perhaps Arthas struck you in the head."

"Don't jest, you fool," Illidan snapped. He sighed, and his tone was pleading then, his voice quivering. "I said I would never forsake you, and I meant that. That is why I am telling you-why I am _begging_ you to leave. My time is done, Kael. It is over. I can't run from the Legion forever. But you, my love-_you have a future_. Don't throw that future away for me...I'm not worth it. Don't throw your life away for nothing!"

"A future and a life without you in it is worth less than nothing," Kael countered defiantly. What in the Nether had gotten into this man? Had he simply decided to give up again, to let fate take him as it may? What the bloody hell was _wrong_ with Illidan? "And your time will end on _your_ terms, not Kil'jaeden's. Isn't that why we're here? What in the hell did we cast down Magtheridon for, to lay down and die weeping like lambs to the slaughter? When did Illidan Stormrage ever give up? When were you ever such a rank coward?"

There was a second long, pointed silence that hung in the air then, one that was finally broken after what seemed like an eternity, by the sound of a bitter, choked sob.

"...when you came back for me."

Kael was suddenly shifted aside as Illidan turned to face him, his blindfold wet with tears. Illidan's hands caressed his smooth cheeks, taloned fingers brushing upwards to tangle themselves in his wealth of thick, golden hair. Kael's lips parted and he sighed, half in pleasure and half in utter bafflement. "What? I don't-"

"You could have left," Illidan rumbled, half-purring as he pulled Kael tightly against him. "It would have been such a simple thing to leave me to die there, but you didn't. In the delirium, I thought I heard your voice-"

"You did hear it," Kael sighed, closing his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of Illidan's hands in his hair. "You didn't imagine it. I was there. Vashj and I spent days searching for you."

"You told me you loved me. And I believed it with more certainty than I did when we made love in that cave."

"For Light's sake, Illidan, I wasn't lying. Neither then, nor now. Were you?"

"Of course not. You have my heart, Kael, as surely as Tyrande does. Perhaps that's why I'm so damned afraid," Illidan confessed, clinging to the smaller man. "Perhaps that's why I foundered when I fought Arthas, why I'm still doing it now. If you had left me there, everything would have been so much more simple."

"Don't be absurd, you would have died."

"Death is simple. It's living that's so wretchedly difficult."

"You don't know how to live without being a martyr," Kael accused him, though his tone was gentle, empathetic. "You truly don't, do you? That kind of pain has been a part of you for so long that you don't know how to cope without it. That someone could return your affection frightens the hell out of you, doesn't it?"

"I've been a martyr for ten-thousand years, Kael. Should I know anything different?"

"...no, I suppose you shouldn't, at that." Kael replied softly. "But have you considered that perhaps it's long past time you did? I'll remind you that you came back for me, first. You could have just as easily let me die to the frost wyrm."

Illidan sighed, then, and squeezed Kael tightly against him. "If you stay here, you stay as a fugitive from the Legion. If you return to Azeroth-"

"This, again?" Kael's tone was incredibly exasperated, now, Illidan's stubborn refusal to listen to reason irritating him beyond measure. "What remains for me in Azeroth, Illidan? My father is dead, the Sunwell is lost, and Quel'Thalas is no more. Dalaran is little more than dust in the wind. And the storied Alliance of Lordaeron? An utter failure of an institution crippled and scattered by its own shameful dishonor and hollow betrayals of its peoples and principles, much like the fallen kingdom that bears its name. Even were it to somehow rally from the dead, no Sin'dorei will ever raise arms or magic under that banner again as long as I live, not after Garithos. No, Illidan, nothing remains for me in Azeroth. My future, and that of my people, lies with you. Why do you think we followed you so willingly? You gave us the means to survive. In our darkest hour, you gave us hope and a renewed sense of purpose. And we'll build a kingdom in this world to rival anything my ancestors accomplished."

"Eloquent words, Kael, as usual. But you can't accomplish that with Kil'jaeden breathing down your neck, and that is precisely what will happen if you insist on remaining here with me. Is that what your people would want?"

It was akin to trying to hold a conversation with a wall. Well, if Illidan refused to listen to the lover that cared for him, Kael thought, then perhaps he would pay attention to the consummate military strategist that led a vastly outnumbered force to victory against the Scourge in Alterac. Perhaps it was time that Kael reminded Illidan that he wasn't merely some lovestruck schoolboy, that Kael, for decades, had been schooled in the art of military planning and tactics by the most powerful warmage his people had ever known-his own father-and was himself counted among the Kirin Tor's most powerful archmagi. Illidan needed to be reminded of Kael's worth to him, if someone to share his bed was not enough.

"Nothing you say will make me abandon you, Illidan," Kael snapped, his tone turning coldly regal. "_Nothing_. You mistake me for the treacherous humans of the Alliance if you think I'm going to turn my back on you when you need me most. I haven't forgotten my responsibilities to my people, by any measure, but neither have I forgotten my responsibilities to you. I pledged my loyalty to your cause, and unlike the cowardly dogs of Lordaeron, I'm a man of my word. We're going to need allies, to reinforce the troops we lost in Northrend. We'll send emissaries to the ruins at Shattrath, surely Akama's kinsmen there will aid us against the Legion, a common foe. And despite its desolation, this valley is rich in ore and minerals...I'll conduct formal negotiations with the Ethereals, perhaps we can come to an agreement, and contract their mercenaries to bolster our numbers. And we absolutely _must_ shore the defenses here, there are any number of places that could easily be breached, like the walls surrounding the sewer ways-or have you forgotten how easy it was for own our forces to seize control of this supposedly impregnable temple-"

"Kael, your points are well taken, but-"

"Let me finish, Illidan. I didn't save you in Northrend just to let you die cowering within the walls of this temple alone. I choose to stand with you and fight. Not merely because I swore an oath of fealty to you, but because I don't want to lose you any more than you want to lose me. My love for you simply won't allow it, and neither will my pride and honor as Prince of the Sin'dorei." Kael's upturned gaze was defiant and determined, and Illidan finally had no choice but to capitulate. Kael'thas Sunstrider was perhaps the one person alive more stubborn than he, and Illidan seemed to realize it then, as the faintest hint of a smile etched its way onto the corner of his lips.

"...thank you, Kael." Illidan hunched down a bit to kiss the top of his head, conceding defeat in his own way, resting his cheek against it. "From the bottom of my heart. That means a great deal to me, more than you could ever know. Never has anyone chosen to stand by me this way. Not with so much left to lose."

Kael, tall as he was, still needed to stand on tiptoe to kiss Illidan. But kiss him Kael did, with as much passion and depth of conviction as he ever had, his lips sweet with the nectar and rich earthiness of the tea. Another deep rumble rose in Illidan's throat, one of those idle noises of pleasure he made that frequently stirred lust within Kael. His powerful arms held him tightly in a near vice-grip despite the soreness of his ribs, almost as though the demon hunter were afraid if he let go, Kael would slip right through his fingers.

"Allow me to be a comfort to you, my love," Kael whispered, his hands gently caressing Illidan's back. "If it's at all in my power, I would wipe your pain away. But I can't if you won't even let me try."

"_Dalah'surfal._"

"I would make you feel at peace, if you'd only let me," Kael continued, his hands sliding down Illidan's back, his long, slender fingers deftly massaging out knots as they found them.

"You are my peace, Kael," Illidan moaned softly back to him, running claws through his hair, leaning down to kiss his neck. "More than you know."

Kael's breath hitched and he slid his hands down the small of Illidan's back into his loose fitting pants, kneading taut muscles to draw more of those delicious sounds from him. As Kael sunk down to his knees, trailing soft, lazy kisses down Illidan's torso, it was obvious what they both wanted, what they craved from each other. Not the paradoxically tender roughness of their first encounter, no-Kael feared Illidan couldn't, not with the injuries he was still recovering from.

"You told me you would never forsake me. I swear the same to you, Illidan: that as long as I draw breath, you will have my magic, my blade, and my heart," Kael said, lightly tugging the cord at Illidan's waist, loosing it. His burning eyes never left Illidan's face, even as he slowly pulled down the billowing cloth to reveal lavender skin glistening with sweat. Illidan's lips parted, his tongue flicking across them to taste the hint of nectar from Kael's lips, and his breath became heavy. It was odd, that-even with this gesture of apparent submission, Kael was showing him just how powerful he was. How seductive he was. Hunger danced across Illidan's face-naked, raw hunger. The demon hunter was entirely at Kael's mercy, and the thought thrilled him.

Illidan absently kicked away his pants with a twitch of his hoof, and leaned back against the railing to brace himself, all the while petting Kael's golden hair. He smiled wickedly down at the sin'dorei. "Would that you swore fealty to me in this manner before."

"Perhaps I should have, if you believed sending me away was at all feasible," Kael snickered, his pouting lips smirking lasciviously. "I apparently let you think I was expendable. So, let me remove all doubt that my place is at your side..._Master_." The word was dripping with sardonic impishness, then.

"And on your knees-" The clever retort was caught in Illidan's throat mid-sentence, however, as his voice was quickly stolen from him in short order. All he could do was tilt his head back with a clawed fist filled with spun gold, and melt into Kael's tongue.

* * *

Later that evening, following a hectic afternoon filled with meetings and councils of war, with Broken, Naga, and his own Sin'dorei advisors, Kael was summoned to Illidan's cavernous private chambers. It had been far from the first time, naturally given the nature of their relationship, and Kael was intimately familiar with every nook and cranny of the elaborately decorated rooms. Illidan seemed to favor the decadence of Sin'dorei design much more than the rustic simplicity of his own people's aesthetic. Silk cushions were scattered across the floor on plush, soft carpets, there were crystalline hookahs blown from the finest glass, and there was a vast canopy of dark violet gauze hanging down from the ceiling over the enormous bed. But there _was_ one thing that was different. Kael noticed it almost immediately.

A small, gilded avian perch sat in a corner surrounded by plants, by a small fountain. It was A'lar's favorite perch, the one she adored to rest upon when she was not in her customary home within Kael's heart, or soaring across the elemental planes. What's more, Kael's personal library-miraculously intact following the fall of the palace in Silvermoon, and brought to him in Outland by Rommath-had apparently been transported in its entirety here. So, too, was his mother's old vanity, filled with all manner of Kael's trinkets and jewelry, as well as the antique hairbrush, comb and mirror set that had been handed down in his family since the time of the Highborne. Truly, it seemed as though everything Kael owned was carefully placed in these rooms.

But perhaps most remarkable of all, _Felo'melorn_, Kael's treasured spellsword, hung in a place of distinct honor above the mantle of the fireplace, right underneath the crossed Warglaives of Azzinoth. There was no denying what this meant.

"You still have your personal rooms down the corridor, of course," Illidan said, stepping out of the shadows. "I would hate to deny you your privacy if you so choose."

Kael was simply overwhelmed by the gesture. Illidan was making a place for him, not only in his heart, but physically as well, in his own space. For once, Kael was struck speechless. Illidan wordlessly opened his arms wide, and the prince went to him; they held each other in as tight an embrace they dared.

"Thank you, Illidan."

Illidan grinned a bit wryly. "It's I who should be thanking you, Kael. It was a bit lonely in here." His expression turned serious, then. "There's one more thing I need to show you."

Kael watched in curiosity as Illidan slowly knelt, wincing a bit in soreness, but was nonetheless able to slide a large, black chest out from under the bed. It was covered in chains and all manner of strange, glowing runes; even from where Kael was standing, waves of magical energy poured from it. Whether it was emanating from the obvious bindings of protection on the chest, its mysterious contents, or both, it was clearly apparent that a great deal of power was involved. He idly wondered how he managed to miss such a pool of concentrated energy right beneath the bed, but rather wickedly remembered he'd had other things on his mind on those occasions. Illidan carefully ran his hands along the chains, muttering some manner of incantation Kael did not recognize, and they loosened beneath his grasp. After a few moments, the chest opened itself, and Illidan retrieved a much smaller, much simpler wooden box from within it. Oddly, it was no larger than the sort of box one would use to keep a deck of Darkmoon cards.

"Illidan?" Kael asked in confusion, raising a questioning eyebrow. Illidan simply clutched the box tightly, and beckoned for the prince to follow him out the door.

"Come, my love."

Obediently, Kael followed him-down the corridor a ways, back to the selfsame terrace they had spent a rather pleasant morning. However, when they arrived, Lady Vashj stood waiting for them. She idly slithered amongst to the flowers to take in their fragrance, the very picture of ancient Highborne grace and nobility despite her inhuman appearance. Kael had been rather pointedly avoiding her since the disaster in Northrend, an odd feeling of guilt sinking within him every time he saw her. He hadn't forgotten the wounded look in her eyes when Illidan addressed him with endearments, nor the words she spoke days before their departure from the temple, when she warned him that Illidan could never love anyone, that his heart still belonged to Tyrande after all these years. Kael was not a foolish elf by any means, and knew well what these things meant. Avoiding her was somewhat cowardly of him, and he was not terribly proud of it, but he needed more time to figure out how to speak to her.

"Hello, Vashj," Illidan said, smiling faintly at her as he led Kael onto the terrace.

"Lord Illidan," Vashj greeted him, with a demure incline of her head. "Prince Kael'thas. Good evening to you both."

There was a slight coldness in the way she spoke Kael's name, though she was cordial, and it made the prince feel guilty all over again. "Good evening to you as well, Lady Vashj. I hope it finds you well."

For a moment it appeared her expression softened a bit, but she returned to minding the flowers. Kael quietly sighed, but said nothing. Illidan, for his part, did not seem to notice the exchange-or, more likely, decided not to say anything about it.

"Vashj, Kael. I brought you both here because there's something I wish to say," Illidan said.

Vashj appeared slightly startled for a moment, as though she weren't expecting such a thing, but quickly recovered. "Yes, my lord?"

Illidan's thumb caressed the etchings on the small wooden box, and he sighed. "The path before us is fraught with much danger and uncertainty. But I suppose I don't need to tell either of you that. You know as well as I that the Legion will not take my failure lightly."

"_Our_ failure, Master," Kael gently corrected him. "It was not your burden to bear alone."

Vashj nodded in solidarity. "We will triumph together, or we will fall together."

"...I rather thought you'd feel that way." Illidan's thumb slid the latch on the box open, and suddenly Kael understood just where that overwhelming sensation of arcane energy in the bedroom emanated from. It was inside that box.

Illidan carefully, even reverently, lifted the lid, and unfolded the black silk covering the bundle inside. There lay three slender glass vials resting snuggly, with delicate silver leaves coiled about them. They were filled with water that glowed with an eerie, eldritch light; soft, and beautiful. Kael's breath was caught in his throat as he gazed upon them. The power they held washed over him like high tide across his feet on the Azurebreeze Coast, and it crept at the edges of his arcane hunger, tempting it with its quiet fury. It was like little else Kael had ever felt before. Only...

"Long ago, shortly after the world's sundering, I took three of these vials to Mount Hyjal to remake at least in some small measure the Well that was the center of our lives, that my brother so callously destroyed in his desperation. I gave yet another vial to Dath'Remar Sunstrider-the ancestor you so revere, Kael, whose blade I saw forged, and rests in your chamber. And with that vial, he crossed the seas to the eastern wilderness, and created the Sunwell that built your kingdom and sustained your people for seven thousand years," Illidan started, in a hushed tone. His fingers gently brushed the vials, and he very carefully removed one, gazing upon it enigmatically. "The price I paid for that action, for ensuring the arcane arts were not lost to the world, for saving my people's immortality and way of life, and for giving your ancestors the means to sustain their existence? For this, they cursed me as 'Betrayer' and cast me from them. For this, I endured ten-thousand years of suffering and confinement away from everything and everyone I loved."

"Lord Illidan..." Vashj gasped, unconsciously placing a hand to her mouth as she realized just what those vials were. Surely she knew, felt their energies radiating and recognized them. It suddenly occurred to Kael, then, that Vashj had seen the original Well of Eternity, had possibly even drawn from it, and he was awed. He remembered the tales he'd read, the stories he'd dismissed as so much fanciful myth until Vashj confirmed them for him. His imagination reached back into the mists of time, and it was almost as if he could see Vashj walking along the Well's shore, basking in its light. Not serpentine, but a kaldorei woman. How beautiful she must have been. And what of Illidan? No wings, no horns, simply an impetuous kaldorei youth following the passion of his convictions, no matter what the personal cost.

Had Malfurion been the one to place his own brother in shackles, he wondered? Had Tyrande been the last face he saw before he was led into the darkness? Perhaps that was why she still haunted his thoughts. The thought nearly broke Kael's heart.

Illidan, however, was undeterred by their shocked silence. "I offer a vial to you, Kael-and one to you, Vashj. Let the waters of Eternity stand as a symbol of our bonds of allegiance, and my promise to you both that I will do everything I can to see your people prosper. Our people."

Stunned, Kael accepted the vial with wide eyes; he held it in his grasp as though he were afraid it wasn't real. Vashj was no less overwhelmed when she took a second vial from his outstretched hand. The final vial was left in the box.

This was a gift that Kael would never be able to repay. This gift meant the salvation of the blood elves. Of course it would take a great deal of time and research to learn how to replicate his ancestor Dath'Remar's miracle of arcane engineering. Kael was not even certain it _could_ be replicated; did the lore, the process, even exist anymore? It didn't matter, though, not to Kael. He would find a way, or die trying. He would build another Sunwell, just as Illidan created another Well of Eternity, and Quel'Thalas would rise from the ashes on Azeroth to even greater glory in Draenor. His people would prosper as they never had before, in their new promised land, and they would raise an army the likes of which that thrice-cursed Kil'jaeden had never seen before. The Legion would be scattered to the Nether, never to threaten Illidan again. Kael would do everything he could to see it through. That was what this gift meant to his people, to him.

It was what Illidan Stormrage meant to him.


	7. Seeds of Ambition

The operation had to be conducted under the dark of night, in the deepest of shadows. Despite their successes in rooting out the Legion's strongholds, there were still too many of them there in the Valley for Illidan's comfort. He could not chance being discovered; the stakes were far too high, and the consequences would be catastrophic were the Legion to stop him, or even reclaim the subject, coming on the heel of the losses in Northrend. Fortunately, if there was one skill in which Illidan Stormrage excelled above all others, even magic, it was subterfuge. It was risky to do it this way, yes, but risk was not something he at all flinched from, to put it mildly. The payoff if he succeeded, if his hypotheses were correct, would be tremendous. He would have a new body of shock troops for his army: brutal, strong, and absolutely loyal to him for the power he alone could provide them with.

One lesson Illidan had quickly learned during his sojourn in Outland was that orcs were by nature warmongers, and that they responded best to shows of strength. The warlocks among them were powerful, yes, and could be as cunning as their old demonic masters. However, on the whole, the orcs were fundamentally a bloodthirsty race that would flock to the strongest banner they could find, whether it be one of the charismatic warlords or warlocks of their own number, or even an outsider like himself. Promise them a place of honor from which to fight their enemies, show them you have the might and the cunning to lead them to victory, and they would fight to the death for you, whether or not you were an orc. The Shadowmoon clan's warlocks were wily, and though Illidan did not trust them by any means-only a fool would, and Illidan was no fool-they had witnessed his power when he seized the Black Temple and struck down their old master. His tremendous strength was something they wisely respected, and that was why they swore allegiance to him.

And they had proven their usefulness. After all, their tales of how their people had been empowered by the Legion were what gave Illidan the very idea for this scheme. Their magic had kept the subject subdued for weeks now, and would be what would make Illidan's plans possible. All that was needed was a suitable locale for Illidan's experiments, and while the Black Temple was a good enough base for most of his purposes, he had a better place in mind. One that would benefit greatly from the fortification his new soldiers would provide, and would serve him as another strong base of power.

So it was, in the deepest hour of night, when even Shadowmoon Valley was pitch black, that the self-proclaimed Lord of Outland stood in the main courtyard of the Black Temple, personally overseeing the transport of the subject to the appointed destination far to the north. High overhead, orc scouts from the Dragonmaw clan circled the skies on their majestic netherdrakes, scouting for any potential sign of the Legion's agents. And Illidan watched as their brutish compatriots silently moved the enormous prison cage using little more than their own prodigious physical strength. The air about the wagon rippled softly with dark power, the warlocks' magics shrouding it in a manner that would cloak the distinct energy signature of the enormous prisoner inside the cage. The same warlocks who once served this very prisoner unquestioningly for two decades. Indeed, the servants had become the master. Naturally, this was intentional on the part of Illidan. It was not merely for his own twisted amusement-though the humiliation it clearly riled in his prisoner idid/i amuse Illidan to no end. This was as much for the orcs' benefit as anything. It was another show of strength, to show them how powerful their new master was. Just in case the weaker-minded among them may have lingering doubts about just whom was truly Lord of this broken world.

"You...will..._pay_ for this, you blind mongrel. You...usurper," the prisoner spat, snarling, the mighty voice that once boomed throughout the walls of the Black Temple reduced to a shallow, belabored husk. He lay sprawled on his side, his body still bearing the scars of the battle he lost two months prior, the battle that had reduced him to spitting curses at the man who had cut him down. Illidan merely snickered at him.

"To the victor go the spoils, Magtheridon. And I am the victor, as all can plainly see-even a blind mongrel." Illidan's deadpan tone only seemed to enrage the fallen pit lord further, and Magtheridon angrily lashed out as if to strike Illidan. The orcish warlocks laughed as their prisoner flinched back in pain, burned by the cage's magic. It was truly an ingenious method of imprisonment: the warlocks, through their combined powers, conducted a ritual of banishment on the demon that was empowered by a series of cubes along the outside of the pallet the cage rested upon. The effect was that he was mostly insubstantial, and though he could move, he would not be able to do very much. As a fail safe, the bars themselves were enchanted with a spell that would only harm incorporeal beings. There was neither respite, nor possibility of escape for the fallen old ruler of the Black Temple.

"Curse you, Illidan!" Magtheridon hissed, collapsing back to lay again on his side.

"Yes, yes." It was nothing Illidan hadn't heard before, after all. "And yet, here I am, master of the Black Temple and ruler of this world, and there you are, impotent and caged as though you were the world's largest and most petulant bird. How, again, do you plan to make me pay for anything?"

"You arrogant dilettante," the pit lord scowled, his enormous fangs dripping fel venom. "Powerful though you might be, you are a grievous fool if you truly think to overcome the Deceiver himself. His power is beyond reckoning! Scheme as you will, half-breed. It will all be in vain. The Legion will not be so easily displaced, not in this world or any other. Draenor is _ours_. It will never belong to you, no matter how you seek to play the king on a pretend throne. The Deceiver will return, and he will make you rue the day you failed him."

"Your idle threats mean little to me, pathetic demon," Illidan replied coolly. "Your own Dark Titan empowered me to fight your kind, ten-thousand years ago. And if your brethren refuse to recognize my rule over this domain, if they refuse to use what little wisdom they possess and surrender to my dominion as your former servants in _my_ Temple have done? I will hunt each and every one of them down like the rats they are, I will send them fleeing in terror the dark corners in which they hide simpering and plotting against me, and I will send them back to Kil'jaeden in pieces!"

With a flare of his wings, Illidan gestured for the orcs to continue moving the prisoner, and on they pushed. Then, he beckoned the leader of the warlocks to come forward. The elder orc's posture was even more stooped than that of his fellows, but his eyes shone bright with power. This was an old and dangerous one, and Illidan believed witnessing this display would serve him well.

"Yes, Lord Illidan?" The warlock knelt before Illidan in reverence.

"I should not need to remind you of the importance of secrecy," the Lord of Outland warned the old orc. "The Legion has eyes everywhere, even now, and if its agents intercept Magtheridon, the consequences would be dire."

"Do not worry, my lord," the warlock reassured him. "We, too, have eyes everywhere. Our forward scouts have prepared the way, and Bladefist has already secured the Citadel. The lair itself lies beneath, and it is warded thoroughly. None shall know what transpires within its walls."

"Excellent," Illidan purred, his tone marked by a mildly basso-profundo rumbling. "You have done well, Keli'dan. Continue to do so, and your people will be handsomely rewarded."

"As you command, Lord Illidan." Keli'dan saluted Illidan in the customary orcish manner, a fist pounded against his chest, and he was dismissed to rejoin his warlocks with the prisoner.

A feline grin crept its way across the Lord of Outland's lips. What better way to best Kil'jaeden than to use his own precious scheme-his own power-against him? Then he would see which of them was the fool.

* * *

Kael held court early the next morning within the cavernous chamber near the temple's summit. He'd left Illidan sleeping in bed, as usual. Even after so many millennia, Illidan was still largely nocturnal, and thus had a tendency to rise long after Kael did, even in this place with next to no visible sun.

This room, which had been informally deemed the Chamber of Command, was for all intents and purposes Kael's war room. Though there was no less the usual lush, decadent sin'dorei decor-gauzy drapes and plush silk floor cushions, enchanted lamps with scented oils, and the occasional hookah-there was no mistaking it for anything but. Its focal point was a large, round table, upon which sat an enormous map of Outland with groups of small clay figures clumped in various places. A second map, even bigger, hung upon the wall, punctured here and there by small pins.

Kael sat at the "head" of the table, as was customary, and with him were a motley assortment of Illidan's forces: most were blood elves, but Lady Vashj was present, on his left, as were Elder Akama and a small number of his draenei. He waited, staring at the map on the table, and his focus as it always seemed to be was on the section of the map representing Shadowmoon Valley. Kael's blood elves were instrumental in reclaiming a number of scattered draenei ruins in the Valley, bases that were formerly occupied by the Legion, and marked by the small elf-shaped figurines on the map. With each new victory, more and more of the Valley was secured under Illidan's control. Still, more needed to be done, and Shadowmoon Valley was merely one small section of Outland. The map, and with it the task before Kael, seemed daunting. Yet he remembered well the lessons of his father: there is no task so large that it cannot be broken down into its component parts. If they could focus on a region at a time, rooting out the rest of the Legion's agents and establishing more bases would not be quite so formidable a prospect.

The prince's eyes traced a line from the Black Temple to Terokkar Forest, which lay just beyond the mountain pass far to the west. It seemed to be the next logical theater of operations. After all, Illidan's forces were quickly in dire need of lumber and other resources, particularly sources of food and water to replenish the Temple's stores, and that was an obvious location to find them and begin to establish supply chains. Once the Valley was relatively secure, they could begin to branch out, but further intelligence was sorely needed. Kael hated going into situations lacking information, and he'd seen very little of this world since he'd been in it; Illidan's army had used the Legion's own transporters to move there in Shadowmoon from Hellfire Peninsula far to the north, in order to take the temple from Magtheridon's forces. None of them had traveled overland, thus Kael had little knowledge of this world beyond that gleaned from the Six's debriefing of Medivh's apprentice, Khadgar-and Kael bore little memory of that questioning. The reports had also long since been lost in Dalaran's destruction a year prior, which didn't help matters. Kael continued staring at the map, mulling over his options, as his people filed in to take seats around the table, until a familiar voice intruded on his contemplations:

"My Prince."

It was a voice Kael had not heard in weeks. One he had not heard in far too long, as far as Kael was concerned. He looked up from the map to see the upturned face of his oldest and dearest friend gazing up at him from on bended knee beside him. It was a borderline worshipful expression, eyes that hid nothing behind their bright emerald glow. How was it that he always seemed to look at Kael that way, as though they were the only two people not just in the room, but in the world? And he was so beautiful, as always, long, dark hair framing his delicate elven features just so. It made Kael smile. He always did, ever since they were children.

"Rommath," Kael greeted him warmly, his smile growing brighter. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," Rommath apologized. "We've been horrendously busy in the Sanctum."

"Please tell me it's for good reason." Kael raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and Rommath met it with a slightly impish smile.

"I assure you, it's good news I bring," he replied a bit smugly.

Kael grinned, then gestured to the empty seat beside him. "Please, sit. I'll be pleased to find out just what you and the others have been up to these past few weeks. We've missed you at these war councils."

They exchanged a glance then, a brief one, yet one worth a thousand upon thousand words. It occurred to him then, however, that he truly missed him since the return from Northrend. As Grand Magister, Rommath's duties directing the blood elves' magical research had kept him occupied, though brief, cryptic missives had trickled in from time to time. Deep in the throes of a new relationship with Illidan, and occupied by his efforts in the Temple directing his lover's war effort, Kael hadn't really _had_ the time to miss Rommath. Even during the brief few years when they lived together in Dalaran, their separate duties could mean weeks or even months apart, so it's not as though this was exactly new. But miss him, Kael did, and perhaps he didn't fully realize it until that moment.

"And I am pleased to return to your side, my Prince." Rommath kissed Kael's golden signet ring, prompting the prince to briefly cup his cheek with no small amount of affection, then obediently rose to his feet and sat beside him. "Good morning, Lady Vashj. I hope it finds you well," the magister said politely, with a respectful incline of his head.

"Indeed it does, Grand Magister. And you, as well." Vashj's expression was as enigmatic as ever, but Kael had known her too long now to not perceive the hidden layers beneath such idle pleasantries and glances. The look she proceeded to direct to Kael was less one of displeasure, than a questioning-a challenge. She was by no means a foolish woman, and though Kael prided himself on his sense of discretion, there was no hiding the deeper undercurrent of his exchange with Rommath from her, nor the way his friend looked at him.

That discussion with Vashj, the one he'd been somewhat dreading and thought he'd been spared from with Illidan's gift of the Vials of Eternity, loomed over Kael's head again, and with it an entirely new dimension. He suppressed a sigh, and instead focused on the business at hand. That particular meeting would have to wait. There were more important matters than his romantic entanglements to discuss, and it seemed to him that everyone who needed to be present was finally there.

Kael reached into a small pocket in his robes, retrieving a small violet crystal, and used it to tap the crystal water chalice in front of him. "Ladies and gentlemen, if we could come to order?" The table fell silent, and he continued. "Thank you. As you are all well aware, the focus of our operations thus far in Outland has been here in Shadowmoon Valley." He paused a moment, brushing the violet crystal with his thumb and uttering a brief incantation; it glowed then, and projected a long violet beam, which he directed in a circle around Shadowmoon on the map. "Legion Hold remains our biggest long term concern, of course, but there are smaller points of strategic interest to us. How are our operations faring in the east?"

A tall and extremely well-built armored man spoke up, one rather gruff-looking as blood elves went. Kael recognized him as Ruusk, one of the officers at the Naga blockade in Northrend, and quite the formidable warrior. "We have full control of the eastern Valley, my liege. Everything between the Black Temple and the Hand of Gul'dan is ours," the veteran reported. "The Legion's portals here were few, but they've all been shut down-either re-routed for our own purposes or destroyed outright." He gestured meaningfully at the crystal in Kael's hand. "May I, Highness?"

"Of course, Commander," Kael replied, handing him the crystal.

Ruusk nodded, then aimed the beam at a plateau directly to the southwest of the Black Temple's southern terrace. "You may be interested to learn that Telonicus' engineers have completed the final cage for our other...prisoner of note, Highness. Sarannis and her company are preparing her for transport as we speak, at my command."

Kael glanced at Telonicus, who was sitting directly across the table from him, and the red-haired ranger could barely contain his glee. The glint in his eye was really rather amusing.

"Telonicus?" Kael raised an eyebrow, and the master engineer grinned wickedly.

"She won't be getting out, Highness. I built several nasty fail-safes into the design, mechanical as well as arcane. If she tries anything stupid, she'll quickly learn the error of her thinking."

"Lord Illidan will be quite pleased by that," Kael said quietly, almost purring. "Excellent work. What about that ruin in the north?"

Akama quietly spoke up, then. "The city of Baa'ri, Prince Kael'thas. It was a draenei settlement that fell into ruin years ago when Gul'dan's followers killed the priests in the nearby temple and razed it," the elder sage explained. "The Ashtongue have reclaimed the temple, however. And we are using it as a base from which to send out scouts."

"The mongrels surely must have artifacts of interest to us in those ruins, however crude in nature they might be," a blood elf announced in the Thalassian tongue. Kael was stunned, but not terribly surprised to see that it was Pathaleon the Calculator. The haughty engineer and arcanist had been mentioned by Rommath in more than one communiqué from the Sanctum of the Stars, and not entirely favorably.

"Indeed. I say we claim them for ourselves," a second, dark-haired mage beside him concurred.

"Mind your tongue, Pathaleon," Kael barked sharply, also in Thalassian, with a quick and meaningful glance at Akama. "The draenei are our sworn allies, and I will not have you speak of them in such a disrespectful manner." He then stared pointedly at the engineer. "And for the record, we speak Thalassian only amongst ourselves."

"Very well, Highness." Pathaleon didn't seem terribly penitent, though he reverted to Common, but Kael was not going to press the issue. However rude he was, he did have a point, though.

"Akama, have your men search the ruins. Where there are temples, there are magical artifacts, and perhaps we'll find something to help our cause," Kael said. Akama nodded, then took the crystal from Commander Ruusk. He pointed it toward a location to the west of the ruins, in the north-central area of the Valley, along a northern mountain ridge.

"Of course, Prince. You should know, however, that my scouts have reported that the Legion has a small base here, across the fel river, on this plateau. There are not that many demons there...but the water is clean, untainted by the volcano."

The Prince of the blood elves looked sharply at the draenei elder. Potable water had been of pressing concern to Illidan's forces ever since they claimed the Black Temple. While the temple itself had deep wells that were untainted, it was not enough to supply all the forces in the Valley, and the few other sources of water they found in that desolate wasteland were filled to brimming with sulfur. Telonicus' engineers _had_ built a number of purification devices, but without the arcane energy to power them, they could only do so much. Akama certainly must have known this, and Kael silently blessed the elder sage for having the forethought to search for more fresh water. They'd often forgotten him, as quiet and shadowy a presence as he was in the Temple, but he was no less critical to Illidan's forces than himself or Vashj.

"Are you certain the water is potable, Akama?"

"The scouts brought back samples, which were tested. It is clean water," Akama confirmed. This was wonderful news. Before Kael could even say anything in response, however-as soon as his eyes met hers-Vashj was already grinning at him, her fangs glinting in the lamplight.

"Do not worry, Kael. My naga will have that base by the end of the night."

Kael returned her grin with an even wider one. "You won't be going alone, Vashj. I could use the exercise." He looked back at Ruusk, pointing to the map. "And what of the south-central region, past the volcano? Have we found anything promising there?"

"Another small Legion base, possibly a forward camp. Nothing terribly formidable...and its location up a mountain pass would make an excellent forward camp of our own."

"Very well, Commander. Get your people on it as soon as possible," Kael ordered. Ruusk saluted, and fell silent.

Smiling, Kael finally turned to the man beside him. "Alright. Rommath, what news from the Sanctum?"

Rommath was smiling a bit smugly, and Kael nearly wanted to laugh. He knew that expression quite well; that was the, 'I've solved something that's been hounding me for ages and I'm a damned genius and I can't _wait_ to tell everyone' expression. Kael found it rather endearing, truth be told, not the least of which because Rommath generally had no idea he made that face. "As you know, the main thrust of our research has been to find a method of crystalizing large quantities of fel energy, for the purpose of fueling our spells and magical devices in lieu of the Sunwell, both here and back in Azeroth," Rommath began. "Making larger versions of the portable fel crystals we've been using to sustain ourselves, truly. Since it's a bit more...well, _reliable_ than simply draining demons. But it's proven rather elusive thus far."

"Of course," Kael mused, nodding. "Mana begins to break down once it's crystallized in larger quantities. I assume fel energy is the same?"

"That's the issue we've been having," Rommath admitted. "Fortunately, this region is particularly abundant in fel energy, and Zerevor has been most helpful in studying it. Our primary focus has been the Hand of Gul'dan, as it seems to be the font of the great majority of it. We've obtained sample after sample of rocks from the volcano, both of a metamorphic nature and general igneous rocks from around the caldera itself. What's fascinating is that when the rocks are removed from the fel pools and exposed to ordinary mana, the mineral materials begin to break down, leaving only the pure, liquified fel energy. When poured into ordinary crystal vessels of any size, it retains its structure, and it's just as simple to draw from as the pure fel crystals."

No wonder Rommath was so excited, Kael thought. This was an astounding breakthrough-probably the most important one since their arrival in Outland. "Have you been able to replicate this?"

"Several times over," Rommath replied proudly. "We're already using one to power the Sanctum."

"How quickly can you produce them?"

"I've already left orders for as many as possible, my Prince. It should not take very long at all-perhaps a day or so, at most."

Small tasks. Little by little, Illidan's army would be creeping into the west. With each step, with each new base, they would be that closer to Terokkar Forest and more resources-and now, finally, the blood elves had a source of magic beyond simply draining demons scattershot, even if it may not have been as strong as the Sunwell. It would be more than enough to sustain them until he could rebuild it. Kael was feeling incredibly pleased with these turns of events. Things were going even better than he'd planned, and Illidan was going to be very satisfied with this report. At this rate, Legion Hold might fall within the next couple of months, and Illidan's control of Shadowmoon Valley absolute.

"Good. Very good. Lord Illidan will be very pleased with your progress, I assure you. Now, you all have your assigned duties. This council is hereby adjourned, then. Akama will summon you all again when needed," Kael announced. "Rommath, walk with me?"

"Of course, my Prince," Rommath politely answered. With that, Kael rose to his feet and exited the command chamber, his loyal Grand Magister in tow. Rommath walked two steps behind, as always the very picture of royal protocol and grace. Back outside on one of the temple's many courtyard terraces, they walked at a leisurely pace down the Grand Promenade of the temple, a grand walkway lined by exotic plants and glimmering sin'dorei lanterns attended to by tiny mana wyrms and shimmering moths in a strange array of colors. It was even moderately pleasant out, surprisingly, though that was perhaps because it may have been past high noon. Kael was never able to tell, honestly. A warm breeze brushed by, and Kael allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment to enjoy it.

"Have you been back to Quel'thalas lately?" Kael asked Rommath, as he stopped briefly to smell an unusually red flower.

"Not since our breakthrough on the fel crystals, no. I was waiting for instructions from you," the magister admitted. Kael chuckled.

"So dependable, as always," Kael gently nudged him, a bit playfully, smiling. His expression turned serious again, though, when he clamped his hand on Rommath's shoulder. The magister's eyes were questioning, but he said nothing. "Let's walk a bit more, shall we?"

"Yes, my Prince."

Kael nodded approvingly, and placed a hand upon the small of Rommath's back; a brief gesture, but a meaningful one, and one that Rommath understood. Their pace picked up a bit, but was still rather leisurely. There were matters Kael did not necessarily want to speak of aloud in such open air, even within the confines of the temple, and even in Thalassian such as they were speaking. It wasn't as though Kael had any reason for suspicion; it was simply, as always, a matter of discretion. Discretion, always. It was something Rommath understood just as much as Kael, and that was one of the reasons they'd always gotten along so well.

The two idly discussed such mundane topics as the weather and nothing else of particular import as they traversed the broad plaza, going back inside the Temple proper, and crossed the small distance to Kael's private chamber in short time. When they were alone at last, inside the room, Kael dismissed the ever-present Broken servitors and shut the door behind them. He stared at Rommath questioningly, when at last he was satisfied with the level of privacy.

"What do you think about sending some crystals back to Azeroth?" Kael asked him quietly, crossing over to a small table with a crystal decanter and a pair of wine goblets. He poured out some Silvermoon pinot noir, and handed one glass to a grateful Rommath.

"I think it can be done, especially now that we've re-directed that one Legion teleporter. So far it's one way only, but that's obviously not an issue, and now we have the energy to power it for longer periods of time," Rommath mused aloud, partaking of the wine. Kael smiled-it had always been his favorite.

"I'm a bit concerned about distribution; we don't want those crystals falling into enemy hands," Kael said quietly, drinking from his own glass. "How's the situation back there, have you heard anything from Lor'themar or Halduron?"

"We received a missive at the Sanctum just yesterday from Halduron, in point of fact," Rommath replied. "The islands are still relatively quiet, save the lingering undead in the Scar on Quel'Danas, but the Farstriders have them well under control. I was thinking we could use Magister's Terrace as a staging ground for crystal distribution. It's well-fortified, even now, and it suffered fairly minimal damage during the invasion."

"...that might be a good idea," Kael said, pursing his lips. "Start with the refugee camps at Sun's Reach and the harbor, since those survivors were most of the worst off. They're likely going to need much more energy than the others."

"Yes," Rommath agreed. "Then we can move on to Sunstrider Isle and the mainland proper. If we can get those people on their feet and in fighting shape, it should give Lor'themar and Halduron a big enough boost to make a final push into the city. From there, we can ship in more crystals to rebuild. I don't think we'll have many issues, frankly."

Kael sighed, in equal parts content and relief, and sipped his wine. "You are utterly indispensable, Rom," he said in all sincerity. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You wouldn't be lonely, that much is certain."

Rommath stared at him with a quirked black eyebrow. It was not a snide statement, nor was it especially venomous-Rommath had too much pride to be so crass toward his Prince. But it was typically biting in his manner, and it made Kael wince. As did the penetrating stare.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Rom," Kael apologized. "I should have."

Rommath shrugged. "Your private affairs are your private affairs, Kael. I've never intruded on them before, and I'm not about to start now. It's not as though it was really a secret, at any rate."

"I'm also your friend, and you shouldn't have found out from third party gossip." Kael drew him close into a warm embrace, placing a hand atop his head. "Forgive me."

Rommath rested his head against Kael's shoulder, melting into the embrace, and sighed. "There's nothing to forgive, Kael. There never is."

"What can I say? I've always had a weakness for dark-haired men." Kael squeezed Rommath tightly, and allowed himself to be kissed softly. It felt so good to be with him like this, and he felt guilty for having forgotten that. More guilt rose up within him, as the physical craving for the magister did, and he pulled away from Rommath's lips. He couldn't do this now, as much as he wanted to. There was too much on his mind. "We shouldn't. Not now. I need...time."

"You're not monogamous, are you?" Rommath balked incredulously, and Kael shook his head, laughing a bit cynically.

"How in the Nether could we be? You've seen the Den, haven't you?" Kael smirked. "That ridiculously large bed in there is far from decorative, you know, and Shahraz warms it at least as much as I do, I assure you."

The red flush that creeped into Rommath's cheeks was hilariously adorable, as it always was. The magister cleared his throat briefly, and brushed a stray strand of midnight black hair behind his ear. "...do you love Illidan? Or is this just...what I mean to ask, is this serious?"

"I love him," Kael answered simply. "As much as I've ever fallen in love with anyone. It's not just a fling. Not for either of us."

"I see." They stood there a moment in awkward silence, wrapped in each other's arms, and not knowing quite what to say. Rommath finally pulled away from him, retrieved his wine glass, and sat down on one of the floor cushions. Kael sighed. This is exactly what he didn't want.

"Are you angry with me?"

"You know I could never be angry with you," Rommath said quietly, with a faint smile. "I love you, and I've only ever wanted you to be happy. It's all I've ever wanted. You know that."

"I do."

"And what about Lady Vashj, though? You do realize she knows, right?"

"About us?"

"About you and Lord Illidan, though I've no doubt she knows about us also. Cunning snake, that one-and I mean that with the utmost respect, mind."

Kael sprawled out beside Rommath, glass in hand, with his elbow on a cushion propping up his head. "She's known at least since Northrend. And I honestly don't know what to tell her. She's clearly in love with him, that much is obvious. And hurting her is the last thing I want to do. She means...a great deal to me. For everything she's done for us, and more."

"Putting it off isn't going to help matters," Rommath advised him, sipping his wine germanely. "I shouldn't have to tell you that."

"You don't," Kael sighed again. Rommath reached down and ran his fingers through Kael's hair; a gesture that was eminently comforting to him. "I just don't know what to say."

"You'll figure it out, my Prince," Rommath said quietly, the manner with which he spoke the words unmistakable in its warmth and devotion. "You always do."

Kael set his glass down, then rolled over to rest his head in Rommath's lap, drinking in the comfort and succor at least as much as he did the wine. He dearly hoped his friend was right, for his sake, and for Vashj's.


	8. Beyond the Sea

As High Priestess of Nazjatar, the Lady Vashj had spent ten-thousand years in the loyal service of a living God-Queen. And on this evening, as she had on so many countless others, Vashj performed the duties of her station with the utmost care and reverence. For there was nothing the naga did, no task they performed, that did not have as its ultimate purpose the glorification of Azshara. Even here in broken Outland so far away from the fathomless deeps they called home, and though they were in the service of Lord Illidan, the Queen's power would be manifest.

It was among the abandoned buildings of the draenei ruin that the dread naga waited eagerly, poised on the edge of anticipation. Their cunning eyes hungered, a multitude of barbed polearms and gleaming blades gripped tensely at the ready. Here they had gathered at their mistress' command, at the Ruins of Ba'ari, in order to seize control of the one source of clean water outside the cisterns of the Black Temple in Shadowmoon Valley. Battle was imminent, and the naga relished it like little else.

There was nothing Vashj did that did not reflect the glory of her beloved Queen. She moved among each group of her soldiers, to a one members of the Coilskar tribe, asking the blessings of Azshara upon their hearts and blades. Despite her unending discomfort with navigating land with a body that was not meant or designed for such a purpose, she nonetheless moved with her customary serpentine grace, her delicate hands making precise gestures to mark out the sacred spirals before each myrmidon and siren. Ever the loyal handmaiden to her Queen, as it had been for ten-thousand years and more, Vashj comported herself with beauty and poise as she slithered amongst her soldiers, calling forth the Queen's protection upon them for the coming battle. This, too, was part of her duty, and it had long since become second nature to her, even before the descent to the deeps. It was her first lesson, so long ago, when she first came to the palace at Zin-Azshari: as the waters of Eternity reflect the light of Elune, so too does a Handmaiden reflect the Light of Lights in all things. And as Vashj was exalted above all the Queen's Handmaidens, for countless millennia, she had come to signify that more than any other Priestess of the Tides. Her people recognized that, and the reverence with which they treated her passing movements was not lost on her. Secretly, she relished it, truth be told, though she would never openly admit as such. There was a kind of power in it, a kind of strength.

Thoughts of Azshara left her mind, however, when the blood elves emerged from a portal, led by their prince. Kael'thas Sunstrider was tall, regal and powerful, the epitome of grace, elegance, and golden beauty; a man of impeccable taste and good breeding, quick of wit and as utterly dangerous as he was even-tempered and fair. Young he was not, by any manner of mortal measure, but to her ancient eyes he shone with all the promise of youth. From the moment she met him on the shores of Alterac, he'd captivated her imagination. His sheer tenacity in the face of insurmountable odds was something she admired deeply about him. This was a man who had lost nearly everything that meant something to him, yet he persevered.

He was every bit Lord Dath'Remar's descendant; it showed in his every gesture, in his gift for manipulating the arcane, in his charisma and the overwhelming love he shared for his people. But to Vashj, he was no mere ally, or means to an end-but, truly, a friend…or so she'd believed. Perhaps that is why the distance he kept from her of late pained her so.

Perhaps, too, there were other reasons for her discontent with him. But this was not for Vashj to contemplate; there was nothing but peril down that road. She was here to serve Lord Illidan, certainly, but she did so by the will of Azshara. All else was irrelevant in the eyes of her Queen. Never could she afford to forget that. Neither could she afford to entertain such idle fancies. There was work to be done.

"_Ishnu-dal-dieb_, Vashj," Kael greeted her, affectionately clasping one of her free hands. With a demure incline of her head, she smiled enigmatically at him. The courtly mask she wore was as tightly affixed as ever. It, too, was second nature to her.

"And to you as well, good prince. I trust your people have been appropriately briefed?" she replied, slipping her hand from his, her tone coolly professional. A less observant person would have missed the faint flicker of emotion in his green eyes when she pulled away, but Vashj did not. Guilt, perhaps? Or something more?

"Akama's scouts have explained the situation, yes," Kael replied evenly, the brief hint of unease buried quickly beneath the commander's airs as he glanced at the plateau in the distance. "Have you come up with a plan for taking the main camp? We're sitting ducks unless we can somehow take those fel cannons out of the equation."

Vashj's eyes narrowed as she stared at the camp, the fel braziers that burned within it mere twinkling emerald lights from her vantage point. There were two bridges crossing the infernal lava flows: one directly west of their own camp there at the ruins, leading into the cistern, and a second across the geyser field. The cistern was a wide expanse dotted by the coveted steam pools, but beyond it lay only one narrow passage beyond the second bridge. The Legion's base was atop a tiered plateau with only one path leading up, and it bore the heaviest of the demonic resistance. A lesser force may have had some difficulty, but they were naga, and commanded the forces of the Deep.

"The dragon turtles will serve as a diversion. We'll send them in to draw the demons' attention," Vashj said. "The draenei can slip past the cannons and dismantle them, just as they did when we took the Temple. They'll make quick work of the mo'arg, as they did then. With the cannons neutralized, we should have little trouble."

Kael nodded. "A sound strategy. The blood elves stand ready, my lady. We'll follow your lead."

"Good," Vashj purred in reply. She finished blessing her soldiers in short order, then turned to address them. "Warriors of the Coilskar. We have but one objective: seize control of this cistern for the glory of Lord Illidan. And where there is water, the naga reign supreme." The hands that gripped her massive, golden longbow raised the shining weapon high in the air, the serpents upon her head writhing and hissing in grim anticipation. "For Nazjatar!"

The naga echoed her battle cry and plunged headlong down the stairs of the ruin, pouring across the bridge into the sparsely patrolled geyser field. Hulking myrmidons wielding even larger tridents and massive scimitars led the charge in tight formation, protecting the comparatively vulnerable sirens as they sang their discordant enchantments, the very ground beneath the handful of shadowy voidwalkers freezing them in place. Trapped by their frozen shackles, they were little more than target dummies for the myrmidons' blades. Cries of alarm sounded from the main camp, and felguards streamed down from the ridge, charging onto the field. The burly demons were armed to the teeth with razor sharp blades as big as naga, and they were fast, but so were the myrmidons. The field rang out with the clash of steel upon steel and barbed enchanted coral.

Vashj held back, as was her custom in combat, surveying the carnage from a distance to provide suppressive fire where she could and control the flow of battle; the full three-hundred-sixty degree field of vision afforded to her by the empathic link with her hair snakes made her well suited to such a task. A felguard broke away from the pack to charge straight for her, but the priestess was ready. Her practiced bow hands were quick and deadly, loosing shot after icy shot from Frostfathom in rapid succession to take down the foolish creature before it could even make it halfway to her location. The humid air around her sizzled and burned as she clenched the fingers of her casting hands and sent forks of lightning crackling towards a second felguard charging toward an unprotected siren, the chain reaction sending a pair of demons flying from sheer force.

From behind, shifting her vision to the serpents at the back of her head, she spied Kael's forces joining the battle, even as she loosed a trio of frozen arrows into yet another demon. Once the naga were fully engaged, the elven prince raised a cry in Thalassian, and his spellsword leapt into brilliant flame when he drew it from the sheath. He led his small group of spellbreakers into the fray, mantle billowing behind him as he ran toward a pack of advancing felguards. Without stopping, he cleanly ran one through, impaling it in the throat, then sent a pillar of flame shooting out of the ground to engulf the others. As always, he was absolutely breathtaking to watch. With equal parts speed and grace, Kael cut the demons down with blade and spell alike, as though they were little more than kelp. His blood elves were no less skilled, the magisters timing their blasts of fire and arcane energy to match the sirens' attacks, the rangers providing cover for the myrmidons' charges with hails of arrows.

It was a short and brutal battle. Even the felguards, for all their prodigious strength, were little match for the combined forces of the naga and the sin'dorei. With a grim smile, Vashj swept an arm in a broad gesture toward the dragon turtle handlers, and the pair of naga warriors hissed sharply at the enormous creatures. They began their grim march across the second bridge, toward the main camp. Molten boulders engulfed in the bright putrid green-the telltale marker of fel energy-shot forth from the fel cannons, but they broke apart almost harmlessly upon the the razor sharp spines of the turtles' massive shells. They were like living siege engines, and their inexorable march continued unabated.

That was the Ashtongues' cue. As soon as the last of the dragon turtles completed the crossing, and the creatures began to climb the hill, the draenei sprung into action. Emerging from the shadows along the ridge, they fell upon the cannons with vicious efficiency, tearing the demonic constructs apart with their kamas. The fel smiths who manned them were caught completely unawares, and though they slashed with their saw-hands at the draenei, it was entirely in vain; they were no match for the Ashtongues' sheer brutality and speed. When the last of the cannons fell, Vashj's eyes widened in triumph, and she slithered to the bridge.

"Go, my Coilskar! To the camp!" she shouted, waving her soldiers across as she began the climb up the hillside, sweeping her casting arms down to encase herself in a shimmering azure barrier of pure mana even as she moved. Vashj fell back once more at the summit, watching as the naga and blood elves alike who followed in her wake clashed with fire-breathing doomguards and succubi with vicious, barbed whips. The Ashtongue were correct in their reports that this area was much more heavily defended than the field. There were still a number of felguards, serving as shock troops for their foul brethren, but it was nothing Vashj's forces could not handle, particularly with the addition of the draenei to the fight. A doomguard flared its wings and reared back to breathe, but was soon overwhelmed by a hail of enchanted sin'dorei arrows and impaled by myrmidon tridents.

Satisfied with how the battle was proceeding, Vashj turned her attention elsewhere. Legion camps always had a commander, and in their previous clashes, resistance always seemed to crumble once they were taken out. If she could find and dispose of said commander, this mission would be over mere moments after it had begun. Scanning the battlefield with dozens of eyes in every direction made such a task child's play. From her side view, she spotted a structure some yards away, She cut a path to her right, firing nonchalantly upon a stray mo'arg tinker demon, and killed it without slowing her pace. Glancing to her left, she saw Kael shoot a blazing sphere of flame from his spellsword to immolate a doomguard, then spin on his heel with undeniable grace, long golden hair streaming about him, and run a succubus through with the blade. The ever present verdant spheres hovering about his head spun and flared as fel energy leeched from the pair of fallen demons and streamed into them. Vashj slithered across the field, and together they flanked a felguard charging for a blood elven archer, incinerating it with searing flame and lightning in tandem. When the smoking corpse collapsed to the rocky ground, their eyes met; Vashj smiled a wicked grin at the elven prince, which Kael returned with a smirk. Alone, each was a force to be reckoned with, formidable in their own right. Together, they were unstoppable. And they had fought together enough in these long months that it was almost second nature to them both.

Before she could react or even warn him, however, a barbed lash came flying toward him, wrapping tightly about his neck. His resplendent green eyes widened and he cried out in pain, desperately clawing at the cord with his free hand and slicing his fingers open upon the thorns in the process. As the succubus began to drain his life energy through the accursed lash, his fair complexion turned sallow, and he swooned. The sight of Kael in such agony filled Vashj with an inexplicable, towering fury.

"Get away from him, fiend!" Vashj screamed, firing a frost arrow with deadly precision toward the whip; it struck true, severing the lash to free Kael from its grasp, and he fell to his knees, his hand flying to his throat as he gasped for air. The demon scowled at Vashj, revealing a row of venomous teeth. Vashj pulled back the string of Frostfathom, nocking a frost arrow, but thought better of it. A simple arrow would not do, not for this one who dared harm Prince Kael. With towering anger, she instead raised her casting hands to the skies and hissed an enchantment in Nazja. The air swirled before her, forming a large, dark funnel cloud which enveloped the hapless demon. Vashj watched with a cruel, fanged smile etched upon her lips as the succubus spun into the air, flailing helplessly and screaming curses in the barbarity she called a language. Kael looked up at Vashj questioningly, but then the naga shoved her hands forward and sent twisting forks of lightning out from her webbed fingers, frying the succubus within the whirlwind.

"My thanks, Lady," Kael said, coughing lightly.

She took a deep breath, the momentary lapse of composure ended, and the courtly mask of the priestess returned. "You would have done the same for me," she said simply, and offered him a hand.

"Turnabout is fair play," Kael growled, reaching out with his bleeding hand to drain the dead succubus of her precious fel energy as she fell back to the ground.

The earth shook briefly; in the wake of the tremor, a towering shivarra emerged from the structure at the edge of the fray. In each of her six hands she bore a fel-forged blade of enormous heft, glowing in eerie brilliant green. Vashj smirked. Clearly, this was the demons' illustrious commander. She gripped the arrow that was previously readied, waiting for her to enter sights.

"Impudent fools! None shall escape the might of the Burning Legion!" the shivarra screamed, laughing sadistically, spittle flying from her mouth to dampen her veil. "Kil'jaeden's power is absolute, it is beyond your mortal comprehension, and you-you incompetent wastrels who have failed Him so, you shall be the first to suffer His wrath!" She threw back her head, laughing sadistically, and moved to leap at Vashj.

"Oh be silent, you ridiculous harlot," Vashj said with an irritated scowl. "I am a Priestess of the Tides, I fear nothing and no one. Give your master my regards-in the Hells."

The shivarra roared and brandished her weapons at Vashj, but the naga loosed a frozen arrow through the fanatical demon's throat almost as an afterthought. She stumbled forward, and even managed to cast a shadowy bolt of energy toward Vashj, but it was absorbed by the glimmering sphere encasing her; the shield dissipated upon contact. With a triumphant, self-satisfied smirk, Vashj slithered over to the demon's dying form. The shivarra was twitching in her death throes, but still reached up with her multitude of arms to claw at Vashj as the naga placed two of her own hands on her face, holding the creature in a vice grip. "Tell your master that I serve an even greater one, one more cunning and powerful than you could ever imagine," Vashj snarled. "Underestimate the Lord of Outland at your peril."

With that, Vashj drew in her will and concentrated, sucking the vital energy from the dying shivarra. She grinned viciously as the emerald light faded from the demon's eyes and the glow wound its way up Vashj's own arms. The fel energy coursed through her, and the feeling was electric; her body tingled. This demon was a powerful one, with 'was' being the operative word. Of course, she was no match for a ten-thousand-year-old Naga priestess, but few were-whether in this wasteland, or anywhere else.

The shivarra's death sent the few remaining demons in the camp into a panicked frenzy, rendering them useless against their opponents and ripe for the picking. But before Kael and Vashj could congratulate one another on the victory, the ground shook again-this time violently. Vashj stumbled backward, her balance thrown, but Kael was by her side in an instant. He held onto her firmly as she righted herself, and she was silently grateful for his quick reflexes.

"What in the world-?" Vashj gasped, clinging a bit to him.

"Perhaps Gul'dan's spell left the region more unstable than we thought," Kael mused grimly. "It could be the volcano-"

Again, the ground shook. And a beat later, again. This was no quake-Vashj _knew_ quakes. Sea quakes were violent, chaotic upheavals with little discernible pattern to them at all. Though she was understandably far less familiar with the peculiarities of land, she could not think those that occurred outside the sea were all that different. No, this was far too rhythmic for any seismic event...more akin to a heartbeat, or rather footsteps.

A piercing sound, hollow and bloodcurdling, echoed through the skies above them, the reverberation so intense that Kael and Vashj felt it to their very bones. Vashj's casting hands flew protectively over her ears, and a second pair reflexively clung harder to Kael. This was no quake, nor was it the Hand of Gul'dan preparing to erupt. That was no natural, earthly sound.

The source soon made itself known. Out of the murky gloom, a sphere of eerie fel light appeared, and a second soon joined it.

They were eyes.

And they were moving inexorably toward the Illidari forces.

* * *

The maze was hidden deep underground, its architecture replete with looping passages that doubled back on themselves, false walls, and dead ends. Illidan paid these no mind; he walked the complex halls with singular purpose. The faint streams of violet energy delineating the only safe path were clear to Illidan's demonic vision. Akama followed Illidan closely, his footsteps inaudible as always.

The atmosphere within the maze was familiar and deeply disturbing, evoking bitter memories that would haunt him as long as he drew breath. Walls of earth and stone surrounding him, far beyond the reaches of any natural light. No sounds but his own breath, his own footsteps, and the constant, intermittent drip of water from some underground source, echoing against the flagstones. Only the silence of the earth here, unyielding and resolute. Only the darkness. This was entirely intentional, of course. The eerie similarities were meant to evoke such a feeling of desolation and misery. For ten thousand years, such feelings were all Illidan had known. It was only fitting that they be repaid in kind.

The trail of energy ended and they stood before their destination: a single, tiny cell carved into the bedrock, secured by bars of fel iron. Faintly-glimmering arcane runes covered the walls, shedding faint light on the occupant of the cell. She sat with her back turned to them; though she still wore her customary armor, she had shed her heavy mantle lest she be overcome by the oppressive heat. Illidan grinned broadly at the sight of her muted, shadowy form; gone was the bright, proud luminescence he remembered. There was no smugness in this one, not now.

"Have you come to torment me, then, Betrayer?" she spat contemptuously, keeping her back turned to him.

Illidan smirked. "Merely welcoming you to your new home, Warden Shadowsong. I trust you'll find it accommodating. You'll have all the time in the world to grow accustomed to it."

"Go to hell, Illidan," Maiev snarled.

"Not likely," he retorted. "I've already known hell, Maiev. Hell was endless centuries spent chained in darkness, by your hand. But you, little warden? The hell you planned for me is the one you will rot in."

Maiev rose to her feet and finally turned to face him, her expression defiant as her fists clenched around the bars which held her. "I don't know what game you're playing at, traitor," she growled. "But you're an even bigger fool than you were, if you think these walls will hold me. And when I'm free, there will be no place for you to run. Not even in this desolate wasteland. You will answer for your crimes at long last, and this time your brother won't be there to save you with his weak and foolish sentimentality. I will see your diseased blood spilled upon the stones of your own fortress for what you've done. My sisters cry out for it, and as the Goddess is my witness I will see justice done!"

Illidan simply laughed at her. Ever the proud and arrogant one, Maiev, always vainglorious and never willing to show any sign of weakness. But no matter how many empty threats she issued, no matter how she pretended to keep the upper hand, her predicament was clearly weighing on her already. Her fury was palpable, and it was like balm to Illidan's soul to see her in such a state, after all the pain she'd caused him.

"Idle boasts. Perhaps a few centuries of confinement will bring your ego back down to reality," Illidan murmured. "Your vaunted brand of 'justice' has no place here, Maiev. Not in Outland. It is _my_ will that is law, not that of a petulant warden who never learned to leave well enough alone. And it is my will that you suffer as I did. You will know no peace, not so long as I draw breath. You will know no comfort. You will know nothing but unending misery in this place. Your fate was sealed the moment you foolishly chased me to this world."

"You will pay for this, Illidan. When I-"

Maiev's incessant squawking was mercifully cut short by a brief rumbling sound which shook the walls, then, sending small bits of loose rock falling from the ceiling to hit Illidan's shoulder. With idle irritation, he brushed the debris away.

Akama, who'd remained silent during his master's trading of barbs with the prisoner, spoke up sharply. "Lord Illidan. The earth here is unstable, perhaps we should seek shelter. Quakes like these are often precursors to explosions on the mountain."

"This is no quake, Akama," Illidan said, narrowing his eyes behind the blindfold. "I spent thousands of years trapped below ground, long enough to become well acquainted with the earth's upheavals. This is something entirely different."

When the walls shook again, the sound was louder, closer, and the hairs on the back of Illidan's neck stood straight up at attention. The very air was suddenly sizzling with fel energy; he could smell and taste it, as though it were thick as smoke. Something was very wrong.

"Regardless, my lord," Akama insisted. "We should seek shelter. What of the prisoner?"

Illidan glared at him in contempt. "What of her?" With sweeping gestures of his arms and smaller, more precise mudras, he summoned forth a portal. If his instincts were correct-and they rarely weren't-this phenomena was no accident. Vashj and Kael had massed to the north, to seize control of the cistern from the Legion. It was likely the sign of a massive counteroffensive, and they needed his aid. "Return to the temple at once. I will handle this. And let the earth swallow Shadowsong whole, if it won't spit her back out."

Maiev howled in rage. "I will destroy you-"

Illidan summarily ignored her and half ran, half flew through the portal, hoping that he was not too late.

* * *

Vashj hurried to the cliffside to take stock of the creature, Frostfathom at the ready. The eyes belonged to a gargantuan demonic construct that appeared to be made of pure fel iron, doubtless fueled by concentrated fel energy. The monstrosity's high-pitched mechanical howling sent bloodcurdling vibrations through the air, the sound making Vashj's scales crawl and setting her fangs on edge.

Worse than the construct's size or its ear-shattering howl was its sheer speed: its long strides allowed it to effortlessly close the distance between itself and the Illidari forces. Nothing seemed to be able to slow it down; naga sorceresses sang their freezing glyphs upon the ground, but the construct simply crushed them as though they were nothing but a child's chalk drawings. The blood elven rangers were quick to react, setting down frost traps in the construct's path, but these too did nothing to slow its advance-it simply coasted effortlessly over the icy wake, and then slammed one colossal fist into the earth. The immense shockwave sent at least a dozen Myrmidons flying like rag dolls and knocked the rest of the troops nearby to the ground.

At this rate, the battlefield would quickly become but a charnel house.

"Fall back!" Vashj shouted as she summoned bolts of lightning and hurled them down to cover the retreat. "By the Tidehunter, _fall back!_"

But it was far too late for retreat. The creature was too fast, and the Illidari were already fully engaged. She could only watch helplessly as naga, draenei and blood elf alike were tossed about, beaten into the ground or hurled into the air by the creature's massive fists. Even the dragon turtles seemed unable to withstand the demonic assault. Vashj raised her casting arms high and lifted her voice in song, chanting in the ancient, otherworldly tongue of the elementals. From the steaming pools below her rose a team of enormous water spirits, and with a sweeping gesture she set them upon the construct, though it dwarfed them in size. They hovered protectively over a group of naga priestesses, allowing them to fall back to relative safety within the mouth of a cave.

The creature looked up sharply, its huge glowing eyes filled with hollow malice. It charged toward Vashj with singular purpose, and reared back to deliver a blow no one could have survived. "Do your worst," she hissed, encasing herself in a shimmering sphere of pure arcane energy.

But another cry pierced through the din of battle then, one now familiar and very welcome indeed. As Vashj let loose a hail of frost arrows to pierce the construct's hateful eyes, a fiery red-gold streak descended toward her like a meteor.

"Vashj!" Kael cried, swooping down astride his phoenix Al'ar, hand outstretched. Vashj immediately grabbed hold of the bird and Kael in equal part and clung to his waist, serpents streaming behind her as they took to the skies. Al'ar's speed was too much for even the construct to best; it swung feebly at the heat-rippled air and sparks of the phoenix's wake.

"A timely rescue," the priestess thanked him. "But I fear it may be for naught. I have never seen such a creature, not even when demons filled Zin-Azshari!"

Kael openly scowled in frustration. "Damn it! There has to be a way to stop this thing-"

They narrowly avoided a rapid swipe of its fist with a heartstopping barrel roll and dove between its legs to escape. When they righted and soared back up, Vashj noticed something peculiar about the massive bars on the construct's chest. The blinding emerald light that shone out from between them concealed a massive lump of some strange metal. As she watched, it expanded and contracted, beating like a heart.

"Turn back, Kael!" she cried. "I have an idea!"

Al'ar banked left at her command, and flew straight toward the construct. Vashj's casting fingers curled and twisting bolts of lightning shot out from them, arcing across the bars to fry the heart within. Just as she believed it would, the creature reared back in obvious pain, letting out another of its horrific cries. Vashj grinned viciously, her eyes narrowing in grim satisfaction. "We have our answer, young prince!" she crowed smugly.

"Somebody get that cage open!" Kael barked, his voice amplified by magical intent. It seemed his thoughts were in accord with her own. The Ashtongue leapt into action at his command, using their kamas as grappling hooks to climb the creature's legs, even as a wave of shimmering violet missiles and white hot fireballs pierced the air and slammed into the glowing fel core in rapid succession. It reared back to stomp the ground again, this time in an apparent attempt to shake the draenei scaling it, but to no avail; their grim climb continued, until they reached the protective cage, and with powerful blows they set their blades to the bars. Sparks flew, and the screeching sound of twisting steel accompanied their grim work.

"Concentrate everything you have on its heart!" Kael shouted down to his troops, when the bars began to split apart. "Capernian!"

"Yes, my Prince!" A single blood elven mage, black hair whipping behind her, twirled her staff with a dramatic flourish and aimed it not at the heart, but directly at the creature's head, now still enough for a clear shot; she was followed by a trio of others. It burst into searing orange flame and it stumbled back, flailing wildly in disorientation. The draenei were at last shaken from the creature and plummeted, but their rapid descent was halted to a slow float by a blood elf priest and they touched the ground in safety. Vashj and Kael began rapidly casting in tandem, sending twisting coils of flame and lightning shooting towards their glowing target in quick succession. It swooned backward, screaming that terrible cry once more, and Vashj laughed. Surely the tide had turned.

It was then that another roar shattered the sky, one very familiar and altogether welcoming to Vashj. She glanced up, and saw him winged in silhouette against the shadow of Azeroth; he was breathtaking in his majesty and the cresting power of his dark fury, a hellish god engulfed in the shadow of the void and infernal flame in equal measure. And with a second bellowing roar and flare of his massive wings, he made a spectacular dive toward the stumbling creature. He careened down through the darkened skies like some demonic falling star, hurling himself horns first, firing like an arrow with the full force of his body directly into the exposed fel heart.

Illidan, Lord of Outland, would not be shamed or bested upon his own domain.

The construct screamed a final death-cry as Illidan tore straight through its chest cavity and emerged from its back, tumbling gracefully on the ground to come to a halt upon flaming hooves. The fallen construct collapsed in a silent heap upon the earth, with one last quake.

Vashj had to physically remind herself to exhale, her breath caught in her throat. He was beyond magnificent to behold in such form, rippling musculature of glossy deepest violet, shadows swirling about him, his bat-like wings even larger than they normally were. His sheer sense of presence was overwhelming, an immensity of dark power virtually pouring off him in waves. She bit her lip, her blood racing as her eyes traced glances across his body.

And she was not alone in her admiration. Kael's eyes were gleaming as he set his bird gently down to ground. "Master," he whispered in reverence, bowing his head.

Illidan rose to full height then, his wings spread to full majestic span, and pumped a clawed and triumphant fist in the air; cheers erupted from the gathering forces, a cacophony of hissing naga oaths and the lighter, melodic shouts of the sin'dorei.

Vashj smiled when Kael dismounted, and raised his hands up toward her. "May I, my Lady?" he asked with a meaningful raise of his brows.

Ever the gentleman, Prince Kael. Vashj nodded and leaned forward, allowing him to lift her from the phoenix's back. He was rather stronger than she expected; she was hardly light, but he held the full weight of her torso with little trouble as she slid her tail down to the ground. The feeling was not unpleasant, and she found herself suppressing a mild pang of disappointment when he politely released her from his firm grip.

"That was rather exhilarating," she quipped with a slight, coy smile.

"Perhaps we should try it again under more pleasant circumstances," Kael suggested, his expression faintly roguish.

Clever boy, that one.

Al'ar cooed then, tucking her head beneath Kael's outstretched hand for petting. She was truly a magnificent creature, one suitably majestic to serve as Kael's guardian, Vashj thought. With a golden shimmer, the bird vanished, leaving only softly glowing embers in her wake. She was not long vanished when Illidan strode toward them, reverted to his customary form with warglaives once more in hand.

"Your timing was impeccable, Master," Kael said, and Vashj made a silent chuckle at the echo of Illidan's own words toward them when they first rescued him from the night elves in Hellfire. "But we did have things under control."

Illidan quirked an eyebrow, and the faintest of grins was etched upon his lips. "Certainly," he said, his tone as dry as the Shadowmoon air. "But this was a welcome victory, regardless. You've done well this night, Vashj."

"Thank you, my lord," she said with a gracious nod. "The sin'dorei were of tremendous help, as always."

"I was glad to be of assistance," Kael said. He glanced over at the enormous, still smoking heap on the ground with a calculating expression in his eyes. "Telonicus!" he shouted.

The Master Engineer jogged forward, red hair plastered against his sweat-soaked brow, but none the worse for wear considering the ferocity of the fighting. "My Prince?" he asked curiously, with a brief salute.

"I want you and your team to salvage this...monstrosity. Learn what you can of its make, and structure. I don't want to be caught by surprise again, and perhaps it will be of use," Kael said. Telonicus nodded.

"Yes, my Prince," he obediently replied, then beckoned toward his comrades, and together they strode toward the fallen construct.

"Good thinking, Kael. Better we seize its remains than the Legion," Illidan agreed. He rolled a shoulder, idly twirling one of his massive glaives. "I don't relish the thought of facing that again."

"I would face an army of them if it meant seeing you unleash such fury upon them," Kael replied impishly, his tone on the verge of purring, and Illidan stared at him with heavy lids. It was another loaded glance exchanged between them as though she were not even present, as though they were the only two beings in the world and nothing else mattered. No one else.

Vashj turned away, lowering her gaze upon some meaningless crack on the ground, lest her discomfort become obvious. Awkwardness was not a feeling to which she was accustomed; it was not one she'd known for countless millennia, but it was as ubiquitous in their presence as the emerald glow of fel power in the valley. It was not a feeling she particularly relished, to put it mildly. But as always, there was her dignity to consider, and the propriety of such emotions. Always dignity and propriety where she was concerned, as it had been drilled into her in perpetuity from the time she was still a young night elf until the Sea claimed her and became salvation. And thus she would remain, flotsam in the tempest's wake, to serve as graciously as she always had despite her feelings. They would know nothing else from her. They could not.

She tilted her head in curiosity then, suddenly-thankfully-distracted by the faint impression of rushing water beneath her tail. It was not the bubbling of the steam pools, however; it was more substantial movement, a flowing current of energy. Comforting.

"Lady Vashj?" Kael asked. "Are you well?"

"There is more water here. I can sense it," she said, entirely avoiding the hidden nuance of his question.

"Go, then," Illidan commanded. "Scout out the area further, and start setting up camp. I'm returning to the temple."

"At once, my lord," Vashj said. "The Coilskar can hold this territory with little issue, I believe."

"I'll return to the temple, then. Coming, Kael?"

Kael paused thoughtfully, glancing back at her. "I'll be there later, Master," he answered. "I have a bit of unfinished business to tend to."

"Very well," Illidan said with a shrug, then opened a portal and vanished through it.

Vashj said nothing to Kael when they were left behind, and merely slithered away, silently cursing the fool for not leaving well enough alone.

* * *

It was a long and silent journey through the cave beside the steam pools, and more than a little awkward. Kael followed her nonetheless, through the caverns to an immense and silent grotto. He caught his breath-never could he have imagined that such a desolate place as Shadowmoon Valley could hold such breathtaking beauty hidden from sight. Water cascaded down from an opening high above into a small pool, and softly shimmering crystals filled the chamber with an ethereal glow in a scintillating rainbow of colors. It was magnificent to behold.

"There are many such places within Nazjatar, though this one pales in comparison," Vashj said a bit wistfully, slithering toward the pool to gaze upon her reflection in the gentle waters, and it seemed to Kael that she was suddenly a world away. It never occurred to him how she must have felt being so far away from the only home she'd known for so long, in a world her body was ill suited for.

He wasn't the only one who felt longing for the comforts of home. He felt guilty, then, that he had never thought of what she may have been going through being so far from the sea she loved. There was so much guilt where Vashj was concerned, it seemed. Too much, for his liking.

"My lady, if I could speak plainly..." he started.

"By all means, Kael," Vashj said softly. "We are friends, and there is little need to stand on ceremony. Friends should bear no secrets from one another."

Kael didn't know how she always did that, how she always managed to pierce right through him with her words as though they were her arrows. Few others in his life ever could. "We need to talk," he said.

"If you believe so," she replied, slithering away. "I am listening."

Kael sighed, and took a deep breath. There was no point in trying to sugarcoat this; Vashj was too perceptive and they both had too much pride. He simply had to trust that his heart wouldn't fail him, even if his eloquence did. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you about us," he began. "Things just happened so suddenly, and there was so much going on-I didn't know when, or how to tell you. I'm so sorry."

"So...at last, it comes to this. I was wondering when it would, how long you would think to play the fool with me, as though I were as blind as he. I know what happened in Northrend."

He sighed again, rubbing his temples. "I never wanted to hide anything from you, Vashj. I've been a coward and a fool," he insisted. "I just-I never wanted to hurt you. I know what he means to you."

Vashj looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing to mere slits, and even Kael flinched involuntarily from that penetrating gaze. "No, Kael. That, you do _not_."

"Tell me then," he said with the utmost empathy. "I want to know."

For just one moment, the courtly mask of the regal high priestess slipped, and he could see the pain in her softly glowing eyes. It was ancient pain, this, deep and unceasing, and it marked her delicate, alien features like scars from a long past battle. He feared his heart would break, seeing her like this, and without a second thought he instinctively reached out to her, taking her by one of her hands. She flinched from him.

"You do not know what you ask of me, Kael. You cannot know," she sighed, slipping her hand away from his grasp to reach up and caress the golden choker clasped around her neck. Not a choker, Kael realized, but a collar-the collar of a slave. A well-heeled and elegant one, but a slave nonetheless. "For one such as I, bearing the mark of my Queen, such notions are impossible. I am Hers, and Hers alone, with all that I am. I cannot entertain such thoughts. They are forbidden, and have been for as long as She has reigned."

Anger rose within Kael, a searing anger. Not for himself, or Illidan, but for this proud, noble woman who had clearly never lived a day with a thought for her own feelings. He understood the allure of submission, all too well, but this was far different than the games of dominance he played with Illidan. There was as much power in submission as there was in control, perhaps more. And it all rested upon the trust they had for one another. But what Vashj implied was entirely different-it was cruel, this submission borne not from trust but fear. "How long have you suffered, Vashj? How long have you been her slave? When have you ever known happiness for your own sake? Have you ever?"

The silence that greeted him was the most poignant answer he could have received. It was damning, and suffocating.

"I am High Priestess of Nazjatar. I dwell at the right hands of She Who Rules the Tides, exalted above all others in my Queen's sight. My Queen's pleasure is my own," she replied, slithering into the pool, and it seemed to Kael like a rote response, a ritualistic one, one that she had perhaps repeated so many times that she possibly even believed it.

"You're a poor liar, Vashj. And you speak of her like she's some kind of god...but no god is worth this kind of suffering. Do you love her, or do you fear her?"

Her angular eyes lowered then, and her long fingernails, so delicately painted with golden lacquer, clamped down upon the collar. "You do not understand, Kael. You cannot. You don't know what it is to live and serve for ten-thousand years and more at her pleasure. To see countless multitudes beyond numbering rise and fall in her favor like the tide. I love Her, yes, and I fear Her in equal measure. As it has always been and as it should be. Queen Azshara is as Eternal as the Deep-as Eternal as Her domain. I speak of Her in such fashion because She _is_ a God, and more, to my people. I could no more betray Her than I could betray the currents that rule us, because She is the greatest of currents, She rules our very existence. And betrayal is what you ask of me, Kael. Do not mistake it for anything less."

"What I ask of you is to think of your own desires, for your own sake," Kael said. "Not for me, not even for Illidan. Not because he needs you, for what power you have or what fodder you can bring to the field. Because you deserve no less. For Light's sake, has anyone ever told you that? Has your precious queen ever told you that you deserve to be happy? That you have the right to love, and be loved?"

Vashj folded a set of arms and rested her cheek upon the edge of the pool, hair-serpents laid flat upon the stone in quiet repose. And for perhaps the first time since he met her, she seemed terribly vulnerable. How long had it been since she let her guard down like this? Had she ever? "Never," she whispered, as though she were afraid to speak the admission aloud, for what it would mean.

Kael reached up to undo the golden clasp at his neck and shrugged off his heavy mantle, letting it fall to the cavern floor. He then slipped off his boots and waded into the water with little care for his remaining fine garments. He needed to be near her, to meet her where she was and show her the comfort she had never permitted herself. "Well, you do. You deserve to be happy. With whomever you please."

"It's not that simple, Kael," she sighed. He waded to her side, waist-deep in the pool, his long golden hair floating upon the water's surface.

"Shouldn't it be?" he said, and placed a comforting hand on her back. Just as he was when he helped her down from Al'ar, he was astonished then by how soft and smooth her scales were. They felt more like rich, lush velvet than anything he expected from a creature of the sea.

"It never is. Not for those such as us," she said, her head still turned from him.

"Why can't it be?"

Vashj smiled, in spite of herself. "So like Dath'Remar, you are. You share his abject stubbornness and refusal to accept reason."

"So I've been told on any number of occasions by my father," Kael chuckled. He kneaded her shoulder, and she seemed to relax a bit. "But you never answered my question, and I need to know why you believe I can't understand what it is you feel for Illidan. Because I want to understand, Vashj. For your sake."

She remained silent for a long, agonizing moment, and Kael feared that he may have overstepped his bounds with her. But then she turned, shifting her weight to rest her head upon his shoulder. "I first met Illidan ten-thousand years ago, before the world's Sundering. I was still a night elf, then. We all were, dwelling upon the shores of the Well of Eternity."

Kael was not expecting that; he'd never held the impression that they'd previously known each other. If they had, Illidan certainly never indicated as such.

"I was Chief Handmaiden to Queen Azshara, hand selected as the most beautiful and powerful of her servants," Vashj continued, with no small amount of pride in her voice. "But this was during the time you know as the War of the Ancients, when the Legion was first drawn to Azeroth. I'm sure you know the tale."

The way she so casually spoke of such ancient history was mildly unsettling to Kael, but it was nothing he hadn't heard from Illidan. "That, I do," he replied.

"And I'm sure Illidan has told you about when he was chosen by Sargeras, when he received those dark gifts-trading his mundane eyes for the second sight of his visions, being marked with the Titan's own runes and sigils. Those gifts came with a steep price, and he spent days in excruciating pain. At times, he was delirious, others he simply passed out because his body simply could not take any more. It was my duty by order of the Queen Herself to care for him. I bathed him and dressed his wounds, I brought him food and wine. It was Her will that I ease his suffering in whatever way possible. Save one, of course. That was reserved for the Queen."

Kael blinked. "I don't follow your meaning...?"

"You must understand, Kael. To be a Handmaiden is to be bound by severe oaths," Vashj explained. "Our bodies, our minds, our souls, and our hearts are not our own. Everything we are and will yet be is given in deepest surrender to the Queen. We become Hers, with the fullest measure of our very being. To even touch a Handmaiden without the Queen's permission is to invite death. On occasion, she permitted the other Handmaidens to pleasure each other for her own amusement, and when she grew bored she would give them over to her favored servitors as a reward-only to cast them out for impurity. But never I. As Chief Handmaiden, I was the most beautiful, I was Her greatest prize, to keep under lock and key and the tightest control. From the moment I entered Her service, I knew no kiss, no touch, but Hers. I knew no affection or pleasure beyond that which She granted me."

Kael shook his head in disbelief. "How could you submit to such a monstrous form of control, to not even have agency over your own body? How could you live like that?"

"It was the greatest of honors among our people. It meant the ultimate in status-that the Light of Lights Herself, exalted by the very heavens, would deem you worthy of Her affection? It meant everything. And to be exalted above all others of such station was a greater honor still. Many would have killed for it. Many tried. But I was always far more cunning than the rest. One did not rise to such position without such cunning. And truthfully, the Queen relished it. She delights in watching others fight and wrangle with one another over her favor. She always has. It is a rare thing to earn it through no intent of one's own, and Illidan had-with his beauty, his boldness, his skill at the arcane arts-all the qualities you so adore in him. He had them even then, as an impetuous youth. They enchanted me as well, but there was little I could do about it. The Queen desired him, and I was sworn to Her."

The prince took a deep breath, suppressing a sudden pique of rage. The way she spoke, Vashj and her sisters were little more than concubines in a gilded cage, puppets dancing to the demented strings of a cruel and narcissistic monster. It was beyond reason, and to think this was all Vashj had known for thousands of years was almost too much to contemplate. In his younger days, he'd bemoaned his relative lack of freedom as prince and heir to the High Throne, but that seemed downright childish in comparison. His father had never forbidden him Rommath's affection, after all. "If you were her prized possession, why did she make you see to Illidan? Why not assign some lesser Handmaiden to the task? Surely she must have known what could happen," Kael said.

"This, I do not know, even to this day," Vashj admitted. "Beyond it being a show of Her great favor toward him, I cannot say. The Queen was no fool, and must have known that I went to him out of the longing of my own heart rather than Her will, after a time. Perhaps She knew I lusted for him, and it filled Her with amusement to see me so tortured, to see me ache with desire for him and claim it for Herself. Not even I, who have served Her for so long, can fully understand Her mind. She is a creature of such whims."

"How on earth did you cope? It must have been agony, spending so much time doting on him, but never allowed to..."

She smiled a bit wickedly, then. "I danced the blade's edge as closely as I dared. Perhaps my hands lingered in certain places, a touch here, a caress there, beyond that which was customary for a bath. I took my time massaging the healing balms and warm oils into his skin, easing his tension, and sometimes his cares simply melted away in my firm grasp. He was always appreciative, though he was well aware of the Queen's will. My hands were quite skilled, after all, and his burdens were...great, even then, when he was still fully kaldorei."

"A dangerous game to play," Kael said with the utmost sympathy, even as he found his imagination captivated by the images she painted with her words, his blood racing a bit faster through his veins. He idly slid a hand down to rest upon the small of her back, just above her tail. For her part, she seemed to like it; she squirmed a bit against him, and the sensation was not at all unpleasant.

"Indeed," she agreed with a bit of a purr. "But I was young and foolish, with stars in my eyes. When I found out that Tyrande was being held in the palace, I went to her. She was High Priestess of Elune, and I thought to seek her vision, where Illidan's feelings were concerned. As I said, I was young and foolish." Vashj's eyes narrowed, her expression turning on a dime to bitter hatred. "She mocked me, and refused. She boasted that she didn't need to ask the Goddess to tell me how Illidan felt. He had loved her since they were children, even though she preferred his brother. So great was his love for her that he could never feel that way for another, and I was wasting my time."

Kael didn't know what to say. The Tyrande he knew would never have spoken such base cruelties, but was it really his place to argue? Perhaps Vashj had interpreted her words through the lens of her own passions and read malice into them where none was intended, aided by the long years of bitterness to cloud her memory. Or perhaps Tyrande had lashed out in frustration against someone she saw as one of her captors. Even the most level-headed people could succumb in such situations, even without the stirring emotions of youth to render them headstrong. He knew all too well. "What happened then?"

"When Dath'Remar and the others betrayed the Queen-when they joined the commoners in their rebellion, Illidan fled with Tyrande in tow," she sighed, her irritation passed. "When I learned of his imprisonment, I wept, and not a day passed that my thoughts did not turn to him and how he must have suffered. I wondered if there had been more I could have done, in futility. But those days were filled with madness, and I know there was nothing. I bore my love for him in silence."

"All this time..." Kael whispered incredulously, and it truly was astounding to believe. It was one thing to understand it on an intellectual level, quite another to hear the pain of her words from her own mouth. He reflexively held her tighter. "Gods, Vashj."

She clung to him a little, his rich robe of crimson and gold bunched in a plethora of soft hands. "This dull ache, this sorrow, is something I have carried within me for almost as long as I can remember. The pain of her words has remained with me still, even when I answered his call at the behest of my Queen and my heart soared to see him once again, more beautiful and powerful than I ever remembered. They twisted within me every time he spoke her name, a bitter reminder of what I could never have. I was content to nurse this wound forever in the knowledge that nothing would ever change, there would always be that accursed Tyrande, her name entwined in his heart with room for no other, for as long as immortality graced us," she said.

"Then I came along," Kael sighed, his heart sinking, and he finally understood, the crushing guilt weighing down on him as badly as it ever had, perhaps at its worst. For ten-thousand years, she'd suffered the pain of unrequited love in silence, only to watch some young upstart sweep in and capture Illidan's affections in a way no one else had.

She continued, unabated, closing her eyes. "But then...there was you. You changed everything, you gave breath to new life within him and suddenly, new possibilities. You rendered everything I had ever told myself a bitter, wretched lie. There _was_ room in Illidan's heart for another; you proved it, you beautiful, terrible prince. But it could not matter to me, no matter how dearly I wished it so. Because it could never be my name upon his lips the way yours is. It must never be me. It cannot. It is as forbidden now as it was ten-thousand years ago in a darkened chamber in Zin-Azshari and I was a young kaldorei girl filled with desire. He can never be mine. I can never be his. It is not _permitted_, it has never _been_ permitted, and to wish otherwise is a betrayal of everything I have ever believed in. It is blasphemy to love him, Kael'thas. To love you-"

Kael's eyes widened in absolute shock. Bitter tears streamed down her face and all he could do was sit there, gaping. All this time, he'd been consumed by fear and guilt over her feelings for Illidan, utterly consumed by it, and it had never once occurred to him that perhaps the hurt in her eyes that day in Northrend was only half caused by Illidan's use of that old kaldorei endearment. He had never thought to believe that she could have been harboring similar feelings for him.

But it made sense, a terrible kind of perfect sense now that he considered it. Certainly, she could not hope to find Illidan on her own, and even had she done so, her force of naga would not have been enough to fight back against Maiev and her wardens should they have proved themselves a nuisance once more. Kael was not nearly naive enough to believe Vashj's offers of assistance stemmed entirely from unfettered altruism borne from their common ancestry. But there was more it than that, more to this genuine friendship that had developed between them than naked self-interest. She listened, without a passing word of judgment, whenever he was frustrated. In combat, she always had his back, and he could always trust her to be there. More than once, she'd saved his life. She was just always there, a quiet presence and source of unspoken strength in his life since this improbable journey began. And never once did he consider why she was, or why it felt so very right.

"_Anar'alah belore_..." Kael gasped, squeezing her tightly against him. "Oh, Vashj."

"I cannot!" she wailed helplessly, her pain echoing off the cavern walls as she sobbed against him. "I am Hers. I cannot be anything else. No matter how I wish it so-"

"She's not here," Kael said, stroking her back, "but we are."

"She is everywhere," Vashj hissed. "We are naga. She is in our very _souls_."

"I am Prince of the sin'dorei," Kael said gently, taking her delicate, pointed chin lightly in his grasp. "And there's nothing in my soul but pain for what was done to my people, the desire for justice, and hope for the future. You gave me that hope, Vashj. Without you, none of this would have been possible. I would have died lost and forgotten, imprisoned in a place I once thought was my home. You gave me answers to questions I did not know to ask, and a path to lead my people back to glory."

"A debt, then?" she said bitterly. "Is that what all this is about?"

Kael shook his head, and caressed her cheek, wiping her tears away. "No, beautiful lady, not a debt. Something far deeper than that, and far more simple: affection, and I realize that now. You deserve better. And I am sure Illidan feels the same. You should tell him how you feel, he may surprise you."

"To what end?" she cried in frustration. "Have you not listened to a word I've said? It cannot be, even if he did return these feelings."

"Vashj," Kael said solemnly, gazing deep into her eyes, watching the torrent of emotions play out in the subtle shifts of her expression. "We're a damned long way from Nazjatar."

"But that doesn't mean we can afford to make an enemy of the Queen, not when we already have one in Kil'jaeden. I am here because She allows it."

"Nonsense," Kael retorted. "You're here because you want to be. You have more freedom here than you've ever known. I see the way your people look at you with devotion. There is no Azshara here in Outland, they look to _you_ as their leader. And I think some part of you deep down loves that you're finally being shown genuine respect, not mere deference out of fear for your proximity to the queen."

"You tread dangerous waters," Vashj warned, pulling away from him.

"Don't you find it strange that she hasn't summoned you back?" he asked her pointedly. "You, the shining jewel in her crown? If she cherishes you so deeply, why didn't she send reinforcements when Illidan was bested at Dalaran? You know her better than anyone. This is a game she's playing at, and sooner or later she's going to tire of it. And then what? Has she ever shown the kind of blind loyalty you've shown her-"

"Enough!" Vashj interjected. "You go too far, Kael."

"Perhaps you haven't gone far enough." he sighed. "But I apologize. I was just speaking the truth as I see it, but it's not my place. I only want you to be happy, Vashj. You deserve better than this endless life of self-denial and heartache, no matter what you decide. I want you to know that. You're better than this."

She sighed deeply, lowering her eyes. "I envy you," she confessed. "It all comes so effortlessly to you. Even Rommath worships you."

He waded close to her again, drawing to full height, and took her face gently into his hands once more. "Vashj, Rommath is my oldest and dearest friend. I've loved him since we were children. But that doesn't mean I love Illidan any less." Kael lifted her chin so that he could gaze into her softly glowing eyes again, to see the emotion behind that sparkling amber glow. "Or you."

Without a second thought, he closed his eyes and leaned in close, pressing his lips against hers. They were warm, soft, and yielding, and he couldn't help but be swept up in the feeling of bliss welling inside him. She wrapped all six of her arms around him tightly, melting into his embrace. Emboldened, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, warm and inviting and altogether different than what he might have expected. The hunger with which she returned the kiss was nearly overwhelming and threatened to devour him; hers was a passion that ran as deep as the tides she called home.

"I'll be waiting for you, Vashj," Kael breathed, his eyes smoldering as he pulled away from her grasp. "We both will."

He turned from her and climbed out of the pool, conjuring a portal home with a sweeping gesture of his bare arms. But this time, he left it open behind him, ready and waiting for her to seize it at any time, and thought it was a fitting gesture. It meant there was a place for her in their lives, if she so desired, and there would always be a place there. Kael felt it in the deepest recesses of his heart, that Illidan was no longer the bitter and wounded man he once was after thousands of years spent pining for a woman who could never return his love. Like Al'ar rising from the ashes, a purifying flame had burned through his heart and made everything new again. There was a place for Vashj, and Kael believed it with the deepest sincerity. But she had to be the one to take that step. She had to realize that there was no going back to Nazjatar, not now. It was something she had to learn for herself.

And when she did, they would be waiting


End file.
